After two long days of routine, with the crew struggling to remain alert, Britlot welcomed the chance to push on. Standing orders suggested strongly that a third day be spent ensuring the crew had missed nothing. He would use Captain’s Discretion.
“Captain.”
Britlot raised an eyebrow. Feneya’s tone was formal.
“Yes, Lieutenant?”
“Sir, I think we should head back to a base for rest and resupply.”
“We are running out of supplies?” It was a pointless question. Both knew that Searcher, with a full load and skeleton crew, could go for a good year without restocking—if necessary.
“No, sir, but morale is on a definite decline. The crew needs a break.”
“Fenaya, if we head back we’ll lose weeks. We’ll not get a second chance. We need all the time we have.”
“Mart, you ask too much. If we keep at it with no end in sight, it will catch up with us. I see mistakes cropping up already—oh, nothing important, but take it as a sign. Please, let’s go back for a break.”
Britlot’s face hardened. “No, Lieutenant. We continue.”
Weytok considered him a long moment, wondering perhaps if she might press her case further. “Aye, sir. I’ll complete pre-jump inspection and ensure Sub-Lieutenant Krirtol sends the report.”
She remained on edge when he re-entered the bridge.
“Data relayed and message acknowledged, Captain,” Lieutenant Weytok reported.
“Good.” He toggled the In-Ship Broadcast. “Gentlemen, Ladies, before we leave the system, a party! I’ve still three bottles of fine Tsloritin wine left unopened. Party will begin in one hour, dress formal. That is all.” As he toggled the ISB off, he caught the grin of Spacer Dhine and knew he’d made the right decision.
“Okay people, fall out.” Comm-Op and Gunner promptly left their stations. “The rest of you, as well,” Britlot ordered and Weytok and Krirtol followed. Britlot made a round of the stations, then sat and watched the scopes and monitors. Three hours passed before Lieutenant Weytok returned.
“Where’s the Sub, Captain?”
“She’s in the galley. I appointed her head cook for the shift, Feneya. How’s goes the party?”
“Crew are having a ball.” Feneya relaxed. It seemed that the old Mart Britlot had returned. “It was a good idea, Mart. You should join in.” She looked at him with a friend’s eye.
Mart gave her a tired grin. “You know I can’t do that. I’m the ‘old man’. A certain distance must be maintained.”
“Yeah, I know. Same goes for me, I guess. Oh, well, I’ll go make another round of engineering and then bring the party to an end.”
“Fair enough. Six hours in the pit for everyone and then we leave the system.”
“What about you?”
“Someone has to keep a watch,” he reminded her gently.
“I’ll split it with you. I already had a short snooze in Engineering, so after I make the rounds I’ll relieve you for the first three hours.”
“But ...”
“That’s an order, sir!”
Britlot gave in, laughing. “Mutiny. I should have suspected something when the biscuits showed up. Just keeping me out of the loop, busy eating.” He sobered. “Thanks, Feneya.” She simply nodded.
Six hours later, everyone feeling much the better, Searcher prepared to jump.
“Where are we headed, Sub?”
Krirtol pulled up the data and transferred it to the captain’s monitor. She looked up to him to confirm.
“Very well, Sub. Lay in the course and let’s be off. Your watch, I believe.” He unstrapped, stood and walked over to her. “Out of curiosity, why that system? It’s a little further than our usual jump.”
“I don’t know, sir. Hunch, I guess. And the Confederation has never plotted it at all. Might make it more interesting.”
“Good thinking. You have the con.”
PREDATOR, TLARTOX FLAGSHIP
Sab Tlorth enjoyed the artificial gravity, the dim lighting and the fresh, grass-scented air of the flagship. She took joy in the murals decorating the passageway to the Fleet Admiral’s day cabin.
The murals depicted Tlartox hunting tlenfel with only tooth and claw. The thought of new worlds upon which to raise tlenfel for the People, the Tox, satisfied her. These new worlds would hold humans, and humans were famous for their ability to raise prey species. The Tlartox would put them to work.
Hunting tlenfel in the wild brought excitement unmatched anywhere. And the taste of tlenfel! Sab salivated at the thought. Even an admiral in the fleet of the Tox did not dine on tlenfel often enough. And that alone might justify the upcoming war.
Upon reaching Fleet Admiral Tood Tlomega’s cabin, Sab checked herself over and licked down an errant tuft of fur. It wouldn’t do to go into the Great One’s cabin looking freshly awakened. Especially not when one of the warrior klatch paid a duty visit on a leader from the hunter klatch.
“Sab Tlorth,” Tood Tlomega greeted her ritually, “may your dining be pleasant.”
“My Admiral Tlomega, may your dish be always full,” Sab replied. Then she turned to business. “The gathering of the fleets goes well.”
Tlomega put a single ear back. “Don’t you think it has gone a little slowly?”
“My Admiral, necessity existed. A compromise between our true readiness state and the state that would have existed had we not planned this. No sense allowing our opponents to believe that the Warriors overcame their neutrality. Where no difficulties presented themselves, we manufactured some.” Sab was proud of how her agents had proceeded. “We have given the illusion of our klatch reacting swiftly to overcome obstacles in the wake of the unexpected vote.”
“When will we be ready, Sab Tlorth?”
“Soon, my Admiral, soon.”
“And then we dine.”
“And then we dine.”
The Fleet Admiral instinctively lowered her voice, though no one could hear. Her teeth bared. “The Tox approved our decision. Yet our opposition grows more vocal despite that. And puppeteers pull their strings. We must find and eliminate those. How goes that hunt?”
Sab followed Tood’s lead and lowered her voice. “After our agent, Miz, led us to the meeting where the ‘Master’ was supposed to be, the scent disappeared. She immediately had our people put out a net, but it caught nothing. Either this ‘Master’ and his minions were very quick and cunning or they simply couldn’t make it.”
“And how did this Miz take that?” Tlomega’s ears had that suspicious angle to them.
“With anger, Tood. She drives our people relentlessly. Two of this ‘Master’s’ tox have been caught, but those unfortunates didn’t survive the capture. However,” Sab bared her teeth, “we have another asset. This one crouches in deep cover and can report but infrequently.”
Tlomega’s ears cocked forward. “We must press this one. We must discover exactly what the dissenters plan. Except that they have brought in a tox with technical skills, we remain in without vision.”
“If we use official channels, we could—”
“But we can’t.” Tlomega’s snarl cut through Sab’s words and left her silent. She calmed. “Keep pushing, Sab. The klatches depend on us to find what we need to know.”
Sab bowed her head. “As you wish, Fleet Admiral.” Bringing the discussion back to a formal level served them both.
Tlomega’s eyes flashed, the light catching them as she turned. “Very good, Star Admiral. Dismissed.”
CHAPTER 6
SEARCHER
“You look frustrated, Lieutenant,” Sub-Lieutenant Krirtol commiserated with Weytok. Her superior had just come from the defaulter’s table.
“Argh. Engineering Chief Retuwet lost his temper, and he tried to take it out on Cookie. Tetjuin backs up for no one, and deliberately burned Retuwet’s breakfast.”
Sub-Lieutenant Krirtol laughed. “Has no one informed the Engineering Chief that one argues with the cook at one’s own peril? From t
he day I started talking about the Academy, my father beat it into my skull, ‘Always stay on the cook’s good side.’” She laughed again. “Sound advice. At least it stood me in good stead.”
Weytok nodded thoughtfully. “So it seems, Sub, so it seems.” Krirtol had come a good distance during the past months. Her confidence, though still lacking, had grown to the point where neither Captain nor Executive Officer monitored her watch at all. They both felt she could cope until help arrived.
“Retuwet’s just blowing off a little steam, sir.”
Weytok wished it were that simple. The effects of the last little party had vanished; no one even remembered it. Tempers flared at small annoyances and the crew harbored grudges. Yet, Britlot again quashed her suggestion to turn back.
“So, what happened with Retuwet?”
“I explained the facts of life. He didn’t like it, but accepted his punishment with adequate grace.” Weytok looked closely at the shorter woman. “These little flare-ups are only symptoms.”
“Symptoms, sir?”
“Morale is down. I’ve talked with the Captain, and he agrees that we either have to return to an outpost for a little recreation, or find a suitable planet and put down for a spell.” She didn’t say that Britlot found only one of the two alternatives acceptable.
“We’re going back?” Both relief and dismay crossed Krirtol’s face. “It will delay us weeks. But I guess we need the break.”
“Our thoughts, too. So, keep on the lookout for a suitable planet. We go on a few excursions, blow off a little steam ... get away from the damned ship!”
“The damned ship, sir?”
“Sub-Lieutenant, when was the last time you had a satisfactory shower?”
“Point taken, sir.” Krirtol was as jealous of her shower time as any. “If you’ll excuse me, I have to relieve the Captain.”
And watch continued to follow boring watch.
* * *
Britlot savored the taste of the last of the Kwintal juice and sighed. He’d had rather more than his share of it and wished, now, that he had restrained himself. Ah, well.
“Thanks, Cookie. That was great,” he called to Tetjuin, who poked his head out of the galley and smiled. Not really great, but good enough, and Britlot knew better than to annoy the cook. He recalled Retuwet’s confrontation. They’d best find a planet, and soon.
If no likely planet appeared within the next week or two, he would be forced to return to an outpost. Weeks lost. Unacceptable. They must find a planet.
“Captain to the Bridge,” blared out over the IBS.
“Report, XO,” Britlot ordered as he entered the bridge taking the chair that Weytok evacuated.
“Navigator confirms all stopped and ready to drop probe, sir.”
“Very well. Drop probe.”
“Aye, sir, probe away.”
A quarter hour passed. Nothing happened and the bridge crew started looking at each other.
“Was the probe checked before it dropped?”
“Yes, sir, I checked it personally.” Krirtol looked worried, wondering if she had overlooked something. Relief broke over her face, “Receiving telemetry, sir. Single star system, no planets. All readings within nominal range.” She frowned. “Data flowing in erratic spurts. I don’t understand it. Circuitry problems, maybe. I’ll get Dhine on it when we pull it back aboard.” She didn’t appear happy with that prospect. Even Dhine showed signs of strain and had become difficult to handle.
Britlot considered the data. No planets. He needed a hospitable one. He sighed inwardly. It had all seemed so exciting when they had started. Find the 22nd, the Vandoo. Return to the Confederation leading a fleet. Romantic, he accused himself.
“Very well, Sub. Let’s follow it in. XO, emergence stations.”
“Sir?” Weytok was surprised. “Aren’t we going to wait the twelve hours?”
“For what, XO? There’s nothing here. No planets, nothing. And we can’t rely on the probe. You want to prepare a second one?” She didn’t. “We drop, recalibrate, get a fix on our next target and jump. The sooner the better.”
Britlot knew Weytok wanted to speak out against the hurry, but a look at her captain’s face convinced her otherwise. She hit the Emergence Stations alarm.
“All emergence stations manned and ship ready to drop, Captain,” she reported shortly.
“Very well. Drop to normal space,” Britlot ordered.
Hyperspace blinked out of the detector scopes and monitors to be replaced by chaos.
Alarms screamed.
“Captain, Navigation reporting loss of all data!”
“Captain, Engineering. Engines off-line, do not respond to computer commands, sir!”
“Captain, Gunnery. Weapons off-line, detectors useless!”
“Captain, all Comm out, sir.”
“Captain, Life-support off-line,” Weytok added to the general clamor just as the ship bucked.
Britlot sat stunned for a moment before training took over. “Engineering.”
“All Comm out, sir,” the Comm-Op interrupted him.
“Very well, get down there, Dhine, and tell Engineering I want one engine on-line—manual controls—in five minutes. As soon as it goes on-line we jump to hyperspace. They are not to wait for orders, understand?”
“One engine, manual, jump as soon as possible, aye, sir.” The Comm-Op ran from the bridge. The ship shook as if it had taken a hit.
“Guns!”
“Sir.”
“Are we under attack?”
“Impossible to say. All gunnery detectors out, shields down.” He smiled grimly. “However, with shields down I’d guess not. It wouldn’t take much to breach the hull with us sitting defenseless.”
Britlot nodded and swung around to Weytok. “XO, damage report.”
“All systems down. Looks like all computers have had their memories scrambled. We’re strictly on manual, sir.” Weytok’s face betrayed only a tinge of the fear she must be feeling, Britlot noted in passing.
“Navigation?”
“The same, sir.” Krirtol did not have the same success mastering her fear. It radiated from her.
“Very well, Sub, please begin reloading the navigation computer from the non-volatile memory discs.” He nodded at the question in her eyes. “Hurry please.” She bent to her task, an impossible one at the moment.
“Temperature falling, sir,” Weytok informed him. The ship shook again.
“Sound Hull-breach alarm,” Britlot ordered, and all attention focused on him.
“We need to get into our suits,” he explained calmly. “They’ll keep us warm and supplied with air.” And we’ll be ready if the hull does breach, which won’t be much longer if this keeps up, he thought but did not say.
Weytok nodded and hit the button. The banshee howl of the hull-breach alarm went off and Britlot gave it a ten second run before muting it. Now only the red-flashing alarm lights indicated the dire situation.
Those on the bridge and, hopefully, the rest of the crew struggled into their emergency suits. Britlot tried out his suit comm. “Guns?”
“Sir?”
The suit comm worked, at least line of sight. “Engineering?” No answer. “Guns, get to engineering and tell them it has already been seven minutes, and would they please hurry.”
“Aye, sir.”
“And tell the cook in passing that we’ll be late for dinner, please.”
“Aye, sir.”
A choking cough rewarded Britlot’s joke as the gunner hurried past. “XO, begin work on restoring bridge life-support on manual.”
“Aye, sir.”
The barrage of orders had the desired effect. Everyone began working and no one had time to panic. Except him. He had nothing he could do at the moment without the possibility of everything falling apart. Lieutenant-Commander Britlot smiled to himself. He had erred. He could do one thing: he could be Captain. In the next few minutes, whenever any of the bridge crew looked to him, which was often, he appeared u
nworried, as if the situation were little out of the ordinary. Comforted by this, the crew redoubled their efforts. If the Captain wasn’t worried, they assumed they would get out of this in one piece.
The shaking stopped. Three minutes later Dorvon reappeared. “Engineering reports that we are in hyperspace, sir, and that if you’d not tricked them into their suits they would have made the five minutes.”
Britlot choked back his laugh. Guns had a lot of nerve to repeat that to him. “Next time I’ll let them freeze their butts off.” He looked around.
“Navigation computer now reloading from non-volatile memory, sir,” Krirtol reported.
“Very good. Now begin reloading the main computer’s programs. XO, how’s life support?”
“Back on-line, though it may be uncomfortable until the computer takes over.”
“Secure from Hull-breach.” The alarm lights died.
“Internal ship’s comm restored,” the Comm-Op reported as he stepped back onto the bridge.
One by one the systems came back on-line and, with every new report, confidence in survival grew.
“Captain, Engineering. All engines on-line. However, I’d recommend no more than half power. Engine three, perhaps minimum power. What in all Chaos happened?”
Britlot toggled the ISB to let everyone know. He felt the excitement growing within. “Gentlemen, Ladies, I believe we just met the Phenomenon. We met it and we escaped, basically intact. If we could do that, then so could the Émigrés and the 22nd Fleet. Navigator, take a bearing directly on Lormar and then plot a course directly away from it. We’re going after the Vandoo.”
CHAPTER 7
TLARTOX HOME PLANET
“They hunt us everywhere, Vom.” Strel’s ears went flat against his head as he reread the message. “Time to do a little hunting of our own?”
Strel growled and Ange’s eyes were slits. He, too, desired to fight back. The others turned their heads expectantly towards Vom.
The white-furred Vom merely gazed at Strel until that one turned his face away. “Strel, Ange, consider your words. Were we to go to war with the hunters, we’d generate a lot of interest. Now the hunters hunt without finding anything. Some believe there is nothing to find. With that belief they no longer look as closely.” Vom closed his eyes and tested the air. The aroma pleased. “Friends, I do believe that meal-time has arrived.”
Ghost Fleet Page 7
