by PJ Strebor
“Good morning, Chief,” Ning said, joining the group.
“Mornin’, Doc.” Her easy colonial drawl would not survive the first week of assignment to a ship of the line. “Come down to help us out?”
Ning chuckled and shook his head. “No, Chief, I’m looking for Ensign Telford.”
From the warped expression on Ritchie’s face, Ning could tell that Telford’s dry smile had infected his crew chief. She pointed toward the parked Specter. Following Ritchie’s pointing digit, Ning saw nothing at first, then noticed a short, flat trolley positioned under the starboard dorsal. Two legs poked from the end of the trolley. He debated whether to approach the ensign on his own turf, finally took a quick breath and marched to the exposed legs.
“Ensign Telford?”
“That’s my name,” the legs replied casually.
"I need to have a word with you.” As an afterthought he added, “This is Doctor Ning.”
For a moment the legs appeared to stiffen, but perhaps he had misread the movement. No reply came from the legs.
“Ensign Telford, did you—”
“Yeah, I heard you.” The easy tone vanished, replaced by a bored indifference bordering on rudeness.
“I would like to talk to you about something that has come to my attention regarding the—”
“I’m a little busy at the moment … Doctor.”
A clatter of metal on metal preceded the appearance of the legs’ owner. Telford’s arms were smeared with lubricant. He did not spare Ning a glance, but strode toward his waiting service crew with a large cylindrical device in his hands. After handing the appliance to the crew chief, he clenched his greasy hands onto his hips. Ritchie examined the part and shook her head.
“Well, bugger me.”
“I might consider obliging you, Ritchie, if you miss something like this again,” Telford snapped.
“Mister Telford,” Ritchie said, “I swear to you the diagnostic showed the thruster to be in perfect working order.”
“And that, Ritchie, is why you listen to your pilot. I could feel that the thruster wasn’t right, and I told you as much. If I had to rely on it in an emergency, it would fail. Little things like that tend to get pilots killed. So, CPO Ritchie, have we learned something today?”
“Yes, Mister Telford,” she said, relaxing slightly as the edge softened in Telford’s voice. “If the pilot tells me something doesn’t feel right, then don’t trust a diagnostic. Get in and examine the problem to ensure it’s right.”
Telford stepped in close to the three NCOs and spoke so quietly Ning could not make out what he said. The four of them burst into laughter. He slapped Ritchie on the shoulder and headed to the nearby wash basin.
He applied a liberal amount of cleaning gel to his greasy arms and hands and washed the slimy mess under a fine spray. While he dried his hands and wiped his face, Ning tried to reach him one last time.
“Ensign Telford, if you could spare me a minute of your time, I would—”
“Sorry, Doctor, but I’m a little busy right now. Why don’t you make a time with my secretary and we’ll do lunch next week.”
He strode to the closest drop shaft and disappeared from view.
Ning sighed and shook his head. Next to monitor captains, only pilots came close to driving him to frustration.
***
Nathan exited the drop shaft at deck three and walked briskly along the central corridor. When he reached the end, he turned around and walked back. After a few minutes of repetitious pacing, his pulse rate began to steady. What the hell had the quack wanted? Wasting my bloody time, most likely. Why did the doctor get his blood up? Nathan conceded that he disliked doctors of any kind, but his outburst against Ning had been unwarranted. Leaning against the bulkhead, he took several deep breaths. His brutal early childhood had taught him to control himself much better than he had done today. He needed to be on guard for such lapses. Nathan took the drop shaft to deck two, and as his quarters came into view, his LM beeped.
He keyed his larynx mike. “Telford.”
“Nathan, could you spare your hard-working D-O a few minutes?”
“Sure, Toni. What’s up?”
“How about we meet in the wardroom in five minutes? I’ll buy you a coffee.”
“No problem. I’ll see you in five.”
Nathan entered his quarters and changed out of his dirty flight suit. Five minutes later he stepped over the coaming into the wardroom. Toni had not arrived, so Nathan poured himself a cold fruit juice, then took a seat in the empty room.
He had taken only a few sips of the orange juice when Toni Reiffel stepped through the hatch. The greeting smile fled from his face as Doctor Ning followed on her heels. Nathan made certain to check his breathing. Both officers took seats at the bench opposite him. Nathan tried to keep his emotions in check, but could not prevent the cold glare he sent toward Toni. D-O or not, her ambush would not soon be forgotten.
“Nathan,” she began, “how are you today?”
“I’m fine … Lieutenant.”
She tucked in her cheeks as if she had bitten into a lemon. “Doctor Ning has come to me with some concerns I believe we need to address.”
“Has he, now?”
“Yes, he has,” the doctor interjected.
Nathan leaned back against the bench and sipped his juice pensively.
Ning glanced at Reiffel before continuing.
“Nathan, there has been a marked increase in the number of personnel reporting to the infirmary since you took over Kendo instruction. I’m just wondering why?”
Nathan continued to stare at him with cold disdain. He steadied his breathing and recited a peaceful mantra in his mind.
“Well, Nathan, what do you have to say?” asked the doctor.
“What do I have to say?” The words were designed to be soothing but came out tasting of bile. He swung his attention onto the D-O. “Are you asking for my resignation as head Kendo instructor aboard this boat?”
Toni’s head snapped back. “Of course not, Nathan, you’re doing a wonderful job.”
“Why are you being so belligerent, Nathan?” Ning asked. “I’m not questioning your competency or methods, I am merely—”
“Bullshit you’re not questioning my methods,” Nathan spat. “You have intimated that my training schedule has caused you to get off your fat butt and do some work for a change. Well, too bad.”
“Take it easy, Ensign,” the D-O warned.
“Yes, I push the teams hard, and yes, there have been some minor injuries. So what? Would you prefer to see these people get hacked to pieces because of inadequate training?”
“No, of course I’m not suggesting anything of the sort. And this is not a personal attack, it’s just—”
“Just what, Doctor, just what?” He leaned back and took a huge breath. “Neither of you geniuses have ever held a sword in your hands, never seen people you respect get butchered by the blade, never chopped another living being to pieces. When you get close enough to an enemy to smell their last breath, that is as personal as it gets.” Both officers sat mutely for some time while Nathan fought for control. “Lieutenant Reiffel, am I still in charge of Kendo instruction?”
“Yes, Ensign, you are still the senior Kendo instructor aboard Insolent.”
“Fine, then let me do my job and keep this pill-dispensing quack out of my way.” He stood and stepped back from the table. “And Lieutenant? Next time you want to get together for an informal chat, make it an order.”
The two officers’ stunned expressions were the last thing he saw before storming through the hatch. Once again he cursed his lack of control.
CHAPTER 24
Date: 24th February, 322 ASC.
Position: Monitor Insolent, transiting through hyperspace.
Status: Escort duties (ongoing). Alert Condition Two.
Nathan and Whitney had been butting heads from day one. His ongoing comments regarding Whitney’s self-appreciation did not sit comfo
rtably upon his broad shoulders. After weeks within their increasingly congested quarters, Whitney finally brought it to a head.
“I’m getting sick and tired of your attitude, Telford,” he said. “I’m as good a pilot as you or anyone else on this boat. They only gave you the Ellison trophy because you were in Metier. I could have won that if fighter school wasn’t so political. So it’d be a good idea for you to lay off on the smart comments. For your own sake.”
Nathan kept his eyes on his DRP. “Yeah, all right, Whitney. Whatever you say.”
One thing was certain. He could not stand to spend the rest of the patrol with Whitney, if he did not start growing up.
As part of his fitness regime, Nathan worked out in the boat’s gym for an hour every day. The small room had the advantage of a high overhead. The gravity could be adjusted and every muscle worked on with the sophisticated fitness machines. Nathan normally went to the gym in the wee hours of the morning, to avoid having to wait his turn on the workout gear.
On this morning he found the gym occupied. Whitney exercised with an enormous set of weights. Nathan paid him the compliment of nodding in his direction, but received no response. Hanging his towel on an unused appliance, he leaned against a bulkhead and began stretching his hamstrings.
A clank of metal on metal indicated Whitney had finished with the weights. Nathan sensed him approaching from behind. He did not need advanced instincts to predict how this morning would end.
“So, this is where you disappear to every night,” the ridiculously deep voice said from behind him.
“So it would appear,” Nathan said.
“I thought I told you not to make fun of me anymore?” Whitney said in his best rendition of a threat that mattered a damn.
“I haven’t, any more. I just haven’t any less.”
“You think that you’re so smart, don’t you, Telford.”
Nathan ignored him and stretched his left leg.
“I’m talking to you, Telford,” Whitney roared. Nathan rubbed his right ear with a little finger. Whitney grabbed him by the shoulder and spun him around. “I said, I’m talking to you,” he yelled.
Nathan brushed the shoulder of his workout gear where the large hand had ruffled the material. He eyeballed Whitney, his blood rising.
“Ensign Whitney,” he said mildly, “in some circles your actions might be construed as assault on a fellow officer.”
Whitney gaped. “Assault? What kind of a gutless wonder are you? If I assaulted you, then you wouldn’t have a head on your fuckin’ shoulders.” His sneer was nothing if not predictable. “Without your big bamboo stick, you’re nothing.”
“I don’t need a shinai to deal with you, Whitney.” Nathan held the index finger of his right hand before the giant. “I have more power in this finger than you do in your entire body.”
Whitney stared at the digit as if it were an uncharged sidearm.
“You don’t believe me? Would you like a demonstration?”
Whitney tensed.
“Relax, Whitney. I’m not going to hurt you.”
“As if you could.”
“All I’m going to do is demonstrate I can overcome your bulk with one finger. And I will do so without attacking you. Interested? Or are you scared?” His added sneer clinched the deal.
“I can handle anything you dish out. But there is no rank between us. Agreed?”
“If it makes you feel secure in yourself, then sure, no rank. Now, stand to attention.”
Behind his air of indifference, Nathan saw that Whitney could not imagine what the immediate future held for him. His fellow ensign was arrogant but not stupid, and only his pride prevented him from backing away from the challenge. His massive frame stiffened to rock-hard attention, a large slab of the proverbial immovable object.
“All right, Telford,” he said, “show me.”
Nathan held out his finger, and slowly brought it to bear on the center of the impressive chest. He moved slightly forward, but suddenly — and as he expected, Whitney leaned back minutely, shifting his center of balance. Nathan straightened his arm and pressed his finger against the rigid sternum.
“Very well, young man,” he said, “now, using only the strength of your body, try to push me over.”
Whitney sniffed contemptuously and pushed forward. His smirk melted as Nathan’s finger refused to yield. The larger man bared his teeth, his face darkening with the effort.
Nathan held his ground, smiling through set teeth. “Give me a lever and a fulcrum,” he quoted, “and I can move the Earth.” He pushed forward and Whitney staggered back, off balance. “Archimedes!”
Whitney recaptured his footing and stared at Nathan, shaking with red-faced fury.
“Archimedes this,” Whitney growled, “you son of a—” He stepped forward, swinging his huge fist. Nathan dropped under the murderous blow. Following through on the same movement, he drove his fist into Whitney’s exposed solar plexus, with the full weight and momentum of his body behind it. A deep gasp exploded from the giant’s mouth as his lungs emptied. His eyes bulged in astonishment. Clutching his chest, he began to double up. Still moving forward, Nathan stepped around him, pivoted on his right foot and kicked back with his left, striking the ensign behind the right knee. Whitney staggered forward as the knee collapsed, falling heavily to the deck, doubling up into a gasping fetal position.
Nathan had made his point, and hoped that the chip on Whitney’s shoulder had been removed. He had made sure to hold his strikes to avoid breaking bones. Putting Whitney in the infirmary would adversely affect the mission.
The great lump remained curled on the deck, wheezing like an asthmatic buffalo. Nathan packed his gear and set off to the wardroom to find an ice pack to wrap around his aching finger.
CHAPTER 25
Date: 29th February, 322 ASC.
Position: Monitor Insolent, transiting hyperspace.
Status: Escort duties (ongoing). Alert Condition Two.
Captain Bradman stepped onto the bridge and dropped into his chair adjacent to the D-O’s station. Despite his initial misgivings, young Reiffel had performed far better than he’d expected. Of course, to admit it to her would ruin his reputation.
“Report.”
“Tactical reports an interference pattern,” Reiffel said. “Bearing is varying across our forward quarter. Scans are inconclusive at this range.”
Bradman nodded while considering his options. The chances of another vessel matching harmonics were next to impossible. However…
“D-O, inform Kymu of the situation and have her reduce speed to one quarter. Helm, match deceleration with the civvy. D-O, launch the alert fighter and have it check out the anomaly.”
“Aye, Captain,” Reiffel replied.
A fighter would not last as long in hyper as her parent boat. However, it could investigate with a fair margin of safety and do so without endangering the convoy. Being far faster than its parent vessel, it could do it more quickly.
Thirty-five minutes of scrupulous investigation by the lone fighter had gleaned no further information on the anomaly. The interference appeared and disappeared intermittently. Bradman’s experience told him something was wrong.
“Flash feed from Outrider Four, captain,” the D-O said. “Hylon rift detected.”
“Instruct the Kyushu Maru to begin immediate emergency braking. Bring the convoy to a dead stop.”
Maneuvering around the anomaly while in hyperspace could throw off their navigation by a massive degree. The only safe option was to egress to N-space and make a course correction from there.
Contact with a Hylon rift could do worse than kill a boat and its crew. The hyperspace tear contained Hylon radiation, not conducive with the magnetic machinations of any ship, least of all a monitor while in stealth mode. Or a fighter, for that matter.
A fully formed Hylon rift could rip the mag plating from a boat or rupture its hull. The effect on a boat’s onboard systems would be devastating. A boat might survi
ve the encounter with a rift if the reactor scrammed into automatic shutdown mode quickly enough. Hylon radiation and reactors never got along well. So if the reactor did not blow, and the violent, sudden egression through hyperspace before being thrust back into N-space did not tear the boat apart, the crew faced a whole new set of problems. With no power, eventually there would be no life support.
There did not exist within the Tunguska Fault a space mariner who did not hate, fear and respect encountering a Hylon rift.
Like any good killer, the rift did not shout its intention to kill you. It drew you in slowly, and when you were close enough, it tore you to pieces.
“Captain, Kyushu Maru confirms your order and is applying full emergency braking. I have dispatched Outrider Five to assist.”
“Outrider Five?”
“Yes Captain, the second alert fighter.” Reiffel glanced at him curiously before returning to her readouts.
Yes, the first thing to go wrong on this deployment and naturally Telford is in the middle of it.
“Receiving telemetry from Outrider Four, Captain.”
Bradman brought up his holo menu, selected navigation and examined the incoming data from the D-O’s console. The rift must be big, considering the influence it exerted on scans at this range. The seat harness dug into his body as Insolent matched braking with the freighter.
“Helm, report.”
“Zero accel in one-four-zero seconds. Projected egression point is in clear space.”
“I concur, Captain,” the D-O said.
So did Bradman. “Very well, helm. D-O, inform the Kymu of the situation and tell her to prepare for ingression. Recall both fighters.”
“Aye-aye, Captain, sending flash feed to Kyushu Maru now.”
So, Bradman thought, all is once again well with the world.
“Captain,” Reiffel said, “flash feed from Outrider Four. Ensign Whitney is declaring an emergency.”
***
Nathan pushed the throttles onto the red line as soon as Whitney declared an emergency. Extending the magnification of his forward holo panels to maximum showed the problem. A massive rift, one of the legendary category fives. While he approached Whitney’s position, discharge from the rift began impacting on his systems.
