Maxwell Saga 5: Stoke the Flames Higher

by Peter Grant

  He stretched in his seat. “That’s not the only reason we’re sending your ship, though. We need to find out as much as possible about what’s going on at Devakai, but regular Fleet communications frigates aren’t equipped to gather intelligence. Those of BuIntel’s ‘Black Squadron’ are. Of course, we don’t officially acknowledge the existence of the ‘Black Squadron’, so you’ll operate as a regular Fleet frigate on this mission. You won’t adopt a false name and registration, and conceal your true identity, as you usually do.”

  “This’ll be the first time we’ve done that since I took command, sir,” Steve acknowledged with a smile. “It’ll seem strange to conduct ourselves as LCS Pickle, instead of a commercial courier ship.”

  “They do say there’s a first time for everything. While your ship’s in orbit at Devakai, waiting for all the diplomatic business to be completed, I want you to use her special equipment to monitor all communications to, from and around the planet. We’ve heard from a few captured fanatics on Athi that a certain orbital shipyard is a key element in the Kotai smuggling network. We want to know what ships it’s working on, what sort of modifications it’s making to them, who’s providing the crews, where the ships are going, and anything else you can discover. If you get enough evidence for us to act, we’ll interdict those ships when they appear at Athi. We’ll also put pressure on Devakai’s government to shut down the shipyard, or at least restrict its activities.”

  “I get it, sir. When do we leave?”

  “The State Department delegation will be ready to depart next week. Your ship should be ready by Friday, so that dovetails nicely.” He shook his head. “I’m glad she didn’t break down while you were working with Laredo’s President Pro Tem. Fortunately, the problem didn’t occur until just after you got back here, where we had a secure dockyard available to fix it.”

  “Yes, sir. We were lucky. What about resupply?”

  “We don’t maintain diplomatic relations with Devakai, so there’s no Fleet agent there. If you need anything, you’ll have to buy it from commercial suppliers. We’ll issue you cash and gold for that purpose, because they’re unlikely to accept Commonwealth checks or drafts. I don’t know how trustworthy they’ll be, either – some of them may be Kotai sympathizers. Also, before you leave here, offload anything that might be a clue to your past missions – false uniforms and papers, all that sort of thing. A diplomatic courier vessel shouldn’t be subject to search by Customs, but you never know. Make sure any references to BuIntel or the Black Squadron are removed, plus all weapons, of course. Diplomatic couriers can’t carry any.”

  “Aye aye, sir; but we can’t hide our special equipment. If they search the ship, they’re bound to find it.”

  “Make up a cover story about it being Fleet communications gear, or something like that, and make sure it’s powered down during the search. If they want it powered up, refuse as politely as possible. If you invoke your diplomatic status, I don’t think they’ll push it.”

  “Aye aye, sir,” Steve acknowledged, but inwardly he was concerned. What if they do push it? What’s the best way to handle a situation like that? I’ll have to talk to the techs and see what we can do.

  “You’ll need a diplomatic passport if you’re to accompany the envoy planetside as part of your duties,” Wu went on. “I’ll arrange that through State.”

  “Thank you, sir. I’d like to have all my officers issued them as well, in case I’m busy with the SPS or something else when an escort is needed for a member of the delegation.”

  “I suppose that’s not a bad idea. I’ll ask State to issue diplomatic passports to all of you, valid for six months. That should be long enough to cover this mission, including a return trip to Devakai if necessary. Make sure you pick reliable officers for such duties.”

  “They’re all reliable, sir. Even Abrams and Patel, my Junior Lieutenants, are well above average. Of course, they were both commissioned after more than a decade’s enlisted service, so they’ve got much more experience than the average junior officer. You seem to have a lot of officers like that in BuIntel, sir.”

  “Yes, we do. It’s a natural result of our policy to make the Bureau of Intelligence a career specialization, instead of rotating people in and out from the general Fleet. A lot of what we do is too sensitive to be revealed to an outsider. Also, once we’ve trained someone, we don’t want to lose their knowledge and experience. Put together, that makes for lots of opportunities for commissioned or warrant rank for our enlisted personnel.”

  “I guess I was lucky to get a BuIntel command slot from outside, then, sir.”

  “Yes, you might say you’re one of the few exceptions that prove the rule. Of course, in your case there were other factors.” They smiled at each other, both vividly recalling the hectic conflict on Eskishi the previous year.

  “You’ll need something else,” his boss continued. “Your ship normally embarks a team of code and cipher specialists to handle decryption and analysis of signals. We don’t have a team available at short notice for this mission, so I’ll arrange to have you issued with a portable artificial intelligence system to do the job. It’s not as comprehensive as a team’s equipment, but it should be adequate for a relatively low-tech place like Devakai. It can analyze and decrypt most standard codes and ciphers, and deal with voice scramblers too. It has a broad-spectrum language translation program as well. I’ll include full instructions and training modules. Don’t tell the diplomatic delegation it’s aboard. Some of them may be a bit naïve – you know, ‘Gentlemen don’t read each other’s mail’ and all that nonsense. They don’t need to know what you’re up to.”

  Steve grinned. “I understand, sir.”

  “Just tell the system the parameters you require. It’ll analyze every incoming signal, and alert you if it finds something of importance. If there’s a risk of it being discovered, there’s a security program that’ll wipe it clean of all sensitive material. Make sure you activate that if necessary.”

  “Aye aye, sir.”

  “Very well. Enjoy the remainder of your leave, then get your ship ready in all respects for departure and stand by to receive the Department of State’s representative. For protocol purposes, she’ll rank as an Envoy Extraordinary and Minister Plenipotentiary, one level below a full ambassador.”

  “Aye aye, sir,” Steve acknowledged as he stood. “We’ll be ready for her. Next stop, Devakai!”

  “Not quite. You’ll be going via Athi first, to get the latest intelligence about what the Kotai are up to. You may be able to visit your friend, Major Shelby, while you’re there.”

  “That’s great, sir! May I tell his wife? She’ll want to send him a care package, I’m sure.”

  “Very well, but make sure she knows to keep your trip to herself until you’ve left. The departure of the delegation will make the news for sure, so after that there’ll be no need for her to keep quiet.”

  “Aye aye, sir.”

  —————

  “Oh, great! Let’s see. I’ll put in some dried fruit, nuts, dried meat sticks, some packets of his favorite candy, a few of the kids’ latest drawings – not that they’re really recognizable as anything, but he’ll get a kick out of them – some more books for his reader…”

  “Hey, slow down!” Steve warned Carol, grinning. “I’ve no idea whether I’ll actually be able to see Brooks. I might end up having to hand the box to someone else to take down to him planetside. I can’t guarantee that everything you send will reach him, particularly if you include things other people will find attractive. That’s always a problem.”

  She sniffed. “Fine thing, when a man can’t rely on his comrades-in-arms! All right. You’ll have to give him a hug from me.”

  “Sure – but I draw the line at giving him a kiss from you!”

  Abha gurgled in amusement. “I think that might make Brooks wonder whether you’re secure in your masculinity.”

  “Huh! Fat chance!” Steve stretched. “Let me get out of my u
niform. The swimming pool is calling my name.”

  “Good idea,” Carol agreed. “I’ll call the kids and their day nurse. They can splash around in the small pool while we swim in the big one.”

  As they watched her walk through the sliding glass windows onto the porch, Abha slipped her hand around Steve’s waist. “You’d better make the most of the pool while you can,” she said, a little sadly. “I suspect you won’t have much time for swimming on Athi or Devakai.”

  “I suspect you’re right.”

  November 9-10 2851 GSC

  Steve glanced around as he strode into the lobby of LCS Pickle’s small docking bay. There had been a frantic rush to reload all the gear and stores taken off the ship before handing her over to the dockyard, plus a host of new supplies for the trip to Devakai. He’d worried that the work might not be complete before the delegation arrived, but his First Lieutenant – Pickle being too small for her to be rated as Executive Officer – and the Chief of the Ship had worked their usual magic. The docking bay was spick and span.

  The two were waiting for him in front of a side party, all wearing Number One uniform with medals. The First Lieutenant called them to attention as she saw him, and saluted him crisply.

  “Good afternoon, sir.”

  “Afternoon, Number One. You’ve checked the boarding protocol?”

  “Yes, sir. An Envoy Extraordinary and Minister Plenipotentiary rates eight sideboys. If we had a band it would play her aboard with three ruffles and flourishes followed by the Flag Officer’s March; but we don’t, so we’ll pipe her aboard.”

  “Very well. It’s long gone time that the Fleet updated that archaic term. After all, a lot of side ‘boys’ are female these days. It’s been that way for centuries.”

  The Senior Chief Petty Officer grinned. “They’re usually better looking than the guys, too, sir.”

  “That’s a matter of opinion,” the First Lieutenant observed mock-haughtily, but she was smiling as she said it. Behind her, the side party grinned at the interchange as they took their stations under the Senior Chief’s supervision.

  The cutter’s arrival was announced by a low tone from the speaker over the third airlock station, reserved for visitors. A red light came on, indicating that the airlock was being established. It flickered to orange, paused a moment, then flashed green. Another brief pause, then the door slid open. A tall woman with dark hair pulled back into a severe bun, looking to be in her mid-forties, stepped out into the lobby. She wore a suit of understated elegance, a dark blue skirt falling to her knees, topped by a jacket of the same material over a white silk shirt with silver brocade at the neck. She stood erect, unmoving, as the speaker system ‘piped the side’ in the ancient and time-honored fashion. Everyone held their positions until the call was completed; then Steve’s hand came down from the salute and he stepped forward.

  “Good evening, Your Excellency. I’m Lieutenant-Commander Steve Maxwell, Commanding Officer of LCS Pickle. This is my First Lieutenant and second-in-command, Senior Lieutenant Juliette Laforet, and my Chief of the Ship, the senior NCO on board, Senior Chief Petty Officer Manuel Aznar.”

  “Good evening, Captain.” She accepted Steve’s proffered hand. “I’m Marisela Bonaventura, Envoy Extraordinary and Ambassador Plenipotentiary to Devakai on behalf of the Lancastrian Commonwealth and the United Planets. May my delegation come aboard, please?”

  “Of course, ma’am.”

  “Thank you.” She glanced over her shoulder into the airlock and nodded. Five more people followed her into the docking bay, forming a line behind her. “This is my Deputy Chief of Mission, Peter Gallegros,” the envoy began, indicating a man in a gray pinstripe suit, white shirt and dark blue tie. “Our United Planets liaison officer, Special Envoy Chandra Chaudhor; my Political and Economic Counselor, Sarah Brightwaters; my Private Secretary, Eileen Humboldt; and a reporter from Commonwealth News Service, Solveig Soldahl.”

  Steve frowned. “I was told to expect only five people, Your Excellency – plus your two stewards, of course, who came on board earlier with most of your baggage.”

  “Yes. Miss Soldahl’s been added at the request of CNS, who’d like her to cover our negotiations.”

  “I’ll have to obtain clearance for her to accompany us before we depart, Your Excellency.”

  The envoy stiffened. “If I tell you she’s accredited to our mission, that settles it, surely, Commander?”

  “No, ma’am. The Department of State can accredit only diplomats and their assistants. News correspondents are accredited by their agencies. I’ll contact my superiors concerning Miss Soldahl.”

  She frowned. “I… oh, very well. If there’s any problem, I’ll ask the Secretary of State to take it up with the Secretary of Defense.”

  “As you wish, Your Excellency. Meanwhile, I’ll ask your stewards to prepare an additional cabin for Miss Soldahl, on the assumption that she’ll be given permission to accompany us. Does your party have any more baggage?”

  “Just a few cases, plus Miss Soldahl’s gear, of course.”

  “The side party will collect it. If you’ll please follow my First Lieutenant, she’ll escort you to your cabins.” He nodded to Juliette, who stepped forward.

  As she led the delegation out of the docking bay, he glanced at the Chief of the Ship. “Please supervise getting their baggage to their cabins, Senior Chief. Also, please ask the First Lieutenant to make sure the members of the delegation understand the restrictions on their movements aboard ship – particularly that journalist. I don’t want her wandering around unsupervised. Meanwhile, I’ll ask Commodore Wu to authorize Miss Soldahl to travel with us.”

  “Aye aye, sir.”

  The Commodore was anything but pleased. He glowered from the comm screen in the Operations Center as Steve sat at the console. “She’s trouble! She’s built a reputation as an ‘investigative journalist’, ferreting out details of alleged mismanagement, corruption and incompetence. Her reports have mostly been accurate, as far as I’m aware, but they’re also sensational – they tend to blacken every name in sight rather than only the guilty parties. I don’t want her aboard. I don’t think there’s anything wrong for her to find, of course; it’s just that she can’t be allowed to learn about your operational history, or your special equipment, or the existence of the ‘Black Squadron’.”

  “Understood, sir: but the envoy said specifically that if there was any problem, she’d ask State to take it up with Defense. She said Miss Soldahl was accompanying her at the request of CNS, but I think there may be more to it than that. They may be personal friends, for all I know, sir.”

  Wu frowned. “I’ll have words with CNS about that. They should have asked for authorization to have her travel aboard one of our ships. However, from what you say I suspect we’re just going to have to live with it. Before departure, make sure she signs the Official Secrets Act and the Binding Code of Conduct for journalists embedded with military units. She must also sign a copy of our standard Fleet conditions for civilian passengers, plus our Squadron’s special restrictions on access. Above all, she must not wander the ship without an escort, and she may not interview crew members or poke her nose into any other compartments. If she won’t sign those documents or agree to those conditions, put her off the ship. She won’t like that at all, but that’s just too bad.”

  Steve grinned. “I can always blame you, sir.”

  “You would, too!” Wu grumbled, but he smiled as he said it. “Be as diplomatic as you can, but don’t hesitate to do whatever you must to conceal the true nature of your ship and its work. We can’t risk that being disclosed. With any luck, she’ll accept that you’re just another communications frigate, and leave it at that.”

  “Aye aye, sir. All being well, we’ll leave orbit at eighteen, as scheduled.”

  —————

  By twenty-one that evening the ship was speeding towards the system boundary, already traveling at one-fifth of light speed and still accelerating. Steve was i
n his tiny office, completing post-departure administration, when his intercom chimed.

  “Maxwell,” he acknowledged.

  “Sir, Communications Desk here. We’ve just received a priority signal from Squadron HQ. I’m forwarding it to your console.”

  “Thank you, Comms.”

  Steve brought up the Communications module and scanned the signal swiftly. Squadron staff had learned that Solveig Soldahl was now a free-lance journalist, having been ‘released’ by CNS the previous week. The company stated that she no longer represented it. Commodore Wu authorized him to handle the situation according to his best judgment, but not to delay his departure. Rather, he was to put her off the ship at Athi, to make her way onward at her own expense, and charge her for the trip there as well.

  Steve pursed his lips in irritation. This was an added burden he didn’t need, on top of having to keep a high-powered diplomatic delegation happy. He thought for a moment, then turned to his intercom and dialed a code.

  “Senior Chief Aznar speaking.” The Chief of the Ship’s voice was drowsy. He’d clearly been woken from an early sleep.

  “Sorry to disturb you, Senior Chief. We have a problem. I want you to collect that journalist, Miss Soldahl, from her quarters and escort her to my office. Wait outside while I interview her, then escort her back to her cabin. Thereafter, she won’t be permitted to wander around until we put her off the ship at Athi. I’ll need a sentry at the entrance to the passenger quarters to make sure she doesn’t stray.”