Lemm considered Jol. He hadn’t approved of Colli’s choice when she made it; perhaps he had erred. He shook his head; they actually understood each other, and Jol never having been in the Service! Lemm clapped Jol on the arm and the two headed back to the others.
Later, in the landcruiser, Relnie asked about it. Lemm told her straight. Withholding needed information had never been his way.
“So, why just you and Jol. Don’t you think Colli needs to know this, too?”
“That’s Jol’s job, Relnie. He’s a good man. He’ll see to it without my trying to usurp his position.”
Relnie laughed and gave his thigh an affectionate pat. “I wondered when you would see that,” she chuckled.
“Surely I’m not that bad?”
Relnie pretended to consider. “Well, it’s a close thing.”
Lemm took her hand and brought it to his mouth, kissing it. “At least I was clear-sighted enough to marry you.”
“Clear-sighted? I practically had to parade in front of you naked before you noticed me.”
A blatant lie, Lemm thought, but he’d give her the point this time. “I don’t seem to recall that. When we get home perhaps you’d demonstrate—just to help my memory, you understand?”
Relnie snorted.
SEARCHER
Lieutenant-Commander Mart Britlot paced the wardroom. He tried to suppress his eagerness to return to hyperspace. The continuing damage control checks tired him, necessary or not. He wearied of the questions he could not answer: Where, exactly, were they? Why could they receive no comm from the Confederation when Dhine swore up and down their equipment showed green? Why he wouldn’t change course and return to Bravo II—that one he would no longer discuss.
“Pacing again, Captain?” Lieutenant Weytok grinned at him.
“How is the crew holding up, Feneya?”
“Too busy to think much, just now.” She saw that he understood what she left unsaid.
“I’m going back to engineering.”
“Don’t.”
Britlot laughed. “Right you are. They don’t need me looking over their shoulders every hour.” The work there progressed as well as could be expected, given their position and lack of facilities.
“Captain?”
Britlot spun around to see Retuwet’s smudged face. “Chief, you have news?” Britlot tried to appear calm and not as eager as he felt.
“Aye, Captain. We have the engines all back together, and test runs show green.” A tired smile came to him slowly. “They did a good job, sir.”
Britlot smiled widely. “Noted, Chief. And good work. Give everyone two shifts off, yourself included. Then we get back under way.”
“Thank you, sir.” The chief engineer looked like he could use the sleep.
“I’ll let them know on the bridge, Lieutenant.” The walk seemed shorter this time.
Krirtol stood as he entered. She had done her best to recreate their explorations from memory, and had completed their new observations and downloaded them to non-volatile disc. They wouldn’t make that mistake again. Everything else, except the comm, functioned properly. That remained a bother.
“Sir?”
“Yes, Dhine?” Britlot felt he could almost see the man’s hairline receding over the past few days.
“I’ve an idea. We could launch a lifeboat, make a small jump, and then have them call us. That would tell us, certain, that the comm either works or doesn’t.”
“It’s an idea, but I’d rather not separate the crew. Program a transmitter on a probe instead. Set it to give a very short signal at a set time. Will that do?”
“Aye, sir, that should do nicely.”
Visibly relieved, Dhine left to set up his experiment. Britlot grinned at Sub-Lieutenant Krirtol’s quick fist against fist motion. He guessed that Dhine had been causing her grief.
“Are we ready to go, Sub-Lieutenant?”
“Ready to go, sir,” she confirmed.
“Good. We leave in two shifts time.”
Everyone breathed a sigh of relief. Going anywhere, even deeper into unknown space, felt better than sitting on their butts, doing nothing.
* * *
“Drop shields. Jump,” Britlot ordered.
The pre-Phenomenon boredom was gone, the crew tense, on edge. Lack of comm with the Confederation changed everything.
The probe’s signal came in clear and strong, and recorded and sent back their reply just as clearly. Yet no signals came from the Confederation.
SPACEDOCK BRAVO II
“Listra, good of you to drop by.” Commodore Taglini offered the captain a glass of wine, which she accepted. She sat down and sipped it gratefully.
“Sabre is ready to be crewed.” She sighed. “That’s the third Class-C frigate back from mothballs. Tag, tell me that they haven’t really recalled first year decoms and graduated final year students six months early.”
“I’m afraid they have. The old and the young, leavened with a few first-class Spacers, will crew the Class-C’s.”
“This isn’t a good sign.” Captain Listra Benteel studied the Commodore. The man had aged five years in the past six months, she thought. She decided to change the subject. “Any good news from Searcher?”
“No. Nothing. Nothing for three weeks now.”
Her eyes went wide. This she hadn’t heard. “Three weeks?”
“I’ve kept it quiet. You know why,” he sighed.
“Three weeks and they on a weekly schedule, barring special interest reports. I’m afraid that they’re gone. Keep it to yourself, please, Listra.”
That hadn’t been a good change of subject, Benteel kicked herself. “Repairs on Defender are complete—ahead of schedule.”
Taglini smiled. He knew what she did. “That’s good news, Listra. It will make them happy back on Lormar. They like reports like that at Fleet Headquarters.” He lost himself in a short reverie. “I think I’ll have another,” he said as he came out of it, and refilled his wine glass. Benteel shook her head at his offer to refill hers. She stood.
“I’d better be getting back.” She paused at the door and turned around at Taglini’s call.
“Torbird, a Class-C trainer, will be here in a week. She carries the officers for the next five re-commissions. I have a list of the captains here.”
Benteel returned to look at them. “They’ve recalled Llemartol? That’ll be a handful for their Commodore. Know who that is, yet?”
“Not yet, Listra.” He seemed preoccupied.
“They may still be okay.”
Taglini acknowledged her remark, then turned to gaze out upon the stars. Poor Searcher. His fault. He was getting too old for this kind of work.
CHAPTER 8
SEARCHER
The distress of Searcher’s crew over the lack of comm equaled Taglini’s. Weytok sat in the darkened wardroom, the door to the passageway open, considering her next attempt to convince Britlot time had come to turn back.
“Pren, why doesn’t the Captain just turn around and head back,” Tumjut’s worried voice came through to her.
“Now, Keel, Captain knows what he’s doing. When we hit the Phenomenon, he was cool. Rest of us were shaking in our boots and he stood there like it was a training exercise.”
“Maybe that’s what scares me. Maybe he doesn’t know when to be scared. I don’t want to go down because some officer is too dumb to know when he’s chasing a nova.”
Weytok decided that she couldn’t let this go by. She prepared herself for a confrontation when Pren solved her problem for her.
“Captain isn’t dumb, Keel. I was there, remember? He was plenty worried, all right. He just didn’t show it and made all the right decisions without letting it get to him. Give me a captain who is cool under fire any day. The cautious ones’ll get you killed.”
“Maybe you’re right.”
The voices faded. Weytok felt relieved she didn’t have to intervene, but the symptoms of unrest continued to grow. She, too, worried. She, too,
wondered why they didn’t turn around. But Britlot made it very clear. They’d encountered the Phenomenon and survived; chances were some of the Émigrés had as well—and the 22nd. He would not accept the loss of time a return would entail—especially since his orders could be changed. Weytok wondered just how unhappy the loss of comm made him.
The clock chimed and she reluctantly rose. Her watch. She entered the bridge and relieved Britlot. Krirtol worked busily at her station. Days in-system called for double shifts. They caught up on sleep in hyperspace. Right now Weytok would have enjoyed another hour in the pit. Ah, well. She checked the log and the scans.
Five planets orbited a life-giving sun. The outer two showed signs of life forms but nothing remotely advanced as evinced by voice or vid signals. Perhaps no sentients at all. She glanced at the navtank. The approach to the third planet routed them past its moon. Perhaps an opportunity for shore leave would arise.
“Detectors?”
“No contacts, Lieutenant, but there’s something funny about that orbiting asteroid.” Guns sounded hesitant.
“Funny?” Weytok’s face sharpened.
“There’s a slight radiation signature which shouldn’t be there.” He paused again as if trying to make up his mind. “Could be a glitch, but I don’t think so.”
“Sub, plot a course to pass close by the asteroid.”
“Aye, sir.”
“And call the crew to stations.”
“Crew closed up to stations, Lieutenant,” Sub-Lieutenant Krirtol reported. “Situation, sir?”
“Guns feels that yon asteroid is suspicious.”
Weytok heard Dorvon groan in the background. Just what he wanted, she grinned to herself, to be singled out like that. If it turned out to be nothing, and he’d caused those off-shift to turn out of their pits, he’d not hear the end of it.
“Lieutenant! Ship tell-tale appearing from behind the moon!”
“Detectors on max. Shields on max.”
The bridge crew froze as the vid came through sharp and clear. A large vessel pulled away from the moon on an approach vector. The asteroid lay forgotten.
“What is it, sir?” The ship’s unfamiliar lines mesmerized Sub-Lieutenant Krirtol.
“Captain to the bridge!” Great Chaos, thought Weytok, it just couldn’t be.
Weytok forced herself to relax, to fight down her excitement and disbelief. “That, Gentlemen, Ladies, is an Adian destroyer-class vessel. A ‘Ghost Ship.’” She had studied Britlot’s books, knew the classes, but still could not believe it. She never really had much faith in that aspect of their mission. The charting, the searching for Tlartox sign, she understood, approved of. She had signed on because of Britlot and because of the experience—and rank—she would gain. She had not expected this.
“They’re hailing us, aud only.”
“Put it on.” What kept Britlot?
“Unidentified Vessel: You are an unwanted intruder in our space. Identify yourself.” The voice was harsh and spoke in an accented Confederation Standard. The inflection she had heard only on old record-vids or drama-vids.
“This is Confederation Vessel Searcher on a peaceful mission of exploration.” She stressed the word peaceful, but only slightly. What would Britlot want? “We request a meeting either upon your ship or ours.”
The reply came without pause. “Request denied. Reverse your course immediately. Return to hyperspace and return the way you came. Failure to comply will have dire consequences.”
“Great Gods!” Britlot finally arrived, in time to hear the exchange, but the sight of the destroyer on the monitors caused him to freeze a moment. He now rushed to his chair, which Weytok gratefully vacated.
“Adian Destroyer, this is Lieutenant-Commander Britlot, Captain of the scoutship Searcher. We request you contact the Council. We desire an audience.”
A long silence ensued.
“Sir, if they move much farther, the aft guns will not bear on them,” Gunner Dorvon reported.
Britlot spun around in his chair. “For the love of the Confederation, Guns, stand down the weapons. We can’t afford a mistake here.”
Dorvon hesitated, hating the thought of deactivating the ship’s defenses. Then he reluctantly punched in the proper code to power down the guns.
“Confederation Vessel Searcher: Please retransmit your last message.” The voice no longer sounded quite so harsh.
Britlot looked at Weytok, who shrugged. Not understanding, Britlot did as requested. An even longer silence followed. Britlot wiped the sweat from his brow.
“What do you think this is all about?”
“I don’t know, XO. At least they haven’t fired on us. So far, so good.”
“Lieutenant-Commander Britlot of the Confederation scoutship Searcher. We highly recommend you reverse course and return to the Confederation.”
Britlot clenched his jaw, then relaxed it. “Well, that, at least, is a change for the better.” He toggled the comm back on. “Adian Destroyer: I must repeat my request to speak to your council.”
The silence this time was shorter.
“Lieutenant-Commander Britlot, stand down your ship. Power down your weapons and deactivate your shields.”
“Adian Destroyer, we have already powered down our weapons and I am deactivating my shields now.” He pointed sharply at Weytok, who promptly deactivated the shields.
“Lieutenant-Commander Britlot, prepare to be boarded.”
* * *
“Dress uniforms, everybody,” Britlot ordered over the ISB. “Flank speed. We have company coming.” He tersely gave the details, left Weytok in charge, and ran back to his cabin to change and to shave.
Weytok dismissed the bridge crew, with the exception of the Comm-Op, for the same purpose.
“Well, Dhine, now we know that Tween-Ship works.”
Dhine looked happy to have something to talk about. Thinking of being boarded had his stomach jumping. “Aye, sir. And the self-test circuits show the Long-Range Comm green; likely, the LRC works as well. I wish I knew why we don’t receive anything on any frequency.” Dhine looked back to the monitor. The Adian destroyer loomed ever larger. He reset the mag to make it appear smaller. “What do you think, sir?”
“I don’t know what to think, Dhine, but a ship that old is likely a training vessel. Has their LRC been active?”
“Not that I could tell, sir.”
“Lieutenant Weytok,” Lieutenant-Commander Britlot had reappeared, “you are relieved. You too, Dhine.” The two made a dignified dash for the door even as Guns re-entered.
In her cabin, Weytok stripped quickly and put on her dress uniform, cursing at the few bits of lint that adorned it. A last quick look in her mirror and she hurried back to the bridge. The entire crew sat at action stations.
“Lifeboat away, sir,” Guns reported. The rest of the bridge crew stared at the monitor. Yes, there it was.
Britlot swung the side arm belt around his waist and buckled it.
“Are you sure, sir?” Weytok had objected. Her own weapon sat flat against her hip.
Britlot smiled. The debate had been short and sharp. Adian custom surely had something to say on the matter, but Britlot found that he could not distinguish between what he had read and what he’d seen as a child on the drama-vids concerning the navy of three centuries past. Finally they decided that the three officers and Guns, as security chief, would wear side arms.
“Lifeboat docking, Captain.”
“Thank you, XO. You have the con. Sub, you and Guns are with me. Let us welcome our visitors.”
The first two through the airlock wore the uniform of marines and carried longarms at the ready. Outside of a quirked eyebrow, Britlot gave them no mind. They stared at the three Confederation representatives with undisguised distrust. Then a tall, hook-nosed officer appeared. He wore a dark blue navy jacket from the past. Much more formal than modern naval attire, Britlot thought. The jacket had brass buttons, not the quick-fasten strips. The buttons shone. The collar looke
d uncomfortable and tight.
By comparison, Confederation Dress appeared casual and Britlot wondered what this man thought. Hard of face, he looked bleakly upon his reception committee. The insignia on his epaulettes marked him as a full commander.
As custom dictated, the Commander saluted as he stepped through the airlock. Britlot returned his salute sharply.
“Welcome aboard Searcher, Commander. Let me present my third in command, Sub-Lieutenant Natya Krirtol, and Gunnery Spacer, Pren Dorvon. I am Lieutenant-Commander Mart Britlot.”
The Commander’s eyes widened just slightly at the introductions. “Commander Rytler Travlot. You will have your entire crew muster, Captain. Then we will inspect your ship.” His clipped voice meant business. There appeared no give in the man. Britlot wished he knew just what that business entailed.
“Very well, Commander.” Britlot toggled a comm station on. “Lieutenant Weytok, please have the entire crew assemble in the recreation room. Remain at your post.”
Three more marines had entered Searcher while Britlot talked to the bridge.
“I said your entire crew, Captain.” There was menace in the Commander’s voice.
“The Lieutenant will remain at her post.” His word was final. “If you desire, you may have one of your men there as well.” Searcher remained his ship. He’d afford these visitors every courtesy, but he remained Captain.
“Satisfactory.” The Commander nodded to a marine. The man stepped forward, weapon at the ready. “Ensure no messages are sent,” he ordered.
“Sub-Lieutenant Krirtol, please escort this man to the bridge, then join us in the rec room.” The Adian Commander had begun to annoy Britlot.
“Aye, sir.” Krirtol turned and led the marine away.
“Guns.”
“Sir. This way, gentlemen.”
The small cavalcade moved through the narrow passageway until they joined the crew. There, the Adian Marines took station at the door. The Commander stood silent and they waited for Sub-Lieutenant Krirtol. She stepped in and Britlot introduced the crew.
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