Ghost Fleet

by D. A. Boulter

  “First, Captain, I’m going to have to ask you to surrender your weapons.” The statement had more demand than request in it. Britlot stood stoically, waiting for the rest. “Then your ship will be searched and non-essential personnel removed to our vessel.”

  “Searcher carries no non-essential personnel, Commander.”

  “If you wish to journey with us, yes, it does. You will not need a Comm-Operator, a Navigator, or a Gunnery Tech. Two engineers, the utility man and cook may remain on board. You have your choice of keeping your Executive Officer or the Sub-Lieutenant to relieve you on the bridge. You are, after all, this ship’s Captain.”

  Britlot composed himself. If not for his excitement at finding the Adians, this arrogant Commander might have found himself with a few teeth missing. “And if I find this excessive?”

  “Then we shall return to our ship and you will return to the Confederation with yours.”

  Britlot recognized an ultimatum, and didn’t even hesitate. He removed his side arm and gestured to his Gunnery Tech and Navigator to do likewise. These he handed directly to the Commander, even though a marine had stepped forward to accept them. The Commander gave him a wintry smile.

  “Gentlemen, Ladies, you heard the man. Some of you are about to take a trip into history. Chief, pick an assistant, Sub-Lieutenant, please give my compliments to the XO and ask her to report here. You are to take the con. At the Commander’s pleasure, those who are leaving us should pack personal things for a short vacation.”

  Krirtol hurried to obey, vastly relieved she would not be asked to venture into the unknown.

  “Now, Commander, which did you wish to take place first, the transfer or your inspection?”

  CHAPTER 9

  TLARTOX HOMEWORLD

  Shads Efdur’s pupils rounded in the dimness of the room. He relaxed into that dimness, happy to be out of the bright sunlight. Tlartox originally came from night-dwelling stock, and although they functioned perfectly well during the day, many still preferred the night. Even so, night dwelling had strangely slipped out of fashion. Much had changed since Tlar’s time.

  He could not afford to relax, Shads thought, his mind returning to the actions he’d either begun or ordered begun. If the warrior klatch ever caught scent of them—well it didn’t bear thinking about.

  “Shads, how goes the hunt, my friend?” The Master’s voice vibrated in a low purr.

  “The quarry is cunning, Master, yet some things even she does not know. I have sent the signal.”

  Shads reflected on that. The navy would be furious if they discovered that squirt-comm had been perfected without their knowledge. They time-compressed the signal, then squirted it out. A proper receiver would decode the signal. Otherwise it would simply appear to be stray interference of extremely short duration.

  The Master seemed well content. Shads now saw that he lay curled on a small sleeping platform in his office. The Master, it seemed, could sleep anywhere.

  “The Fleet has prepared its plans, Master. Their objective: Lormar.”

  “Naturally. The Fleet still wants revenge for Tlenfro.” The Master showed his teeth and his ears flicked to a neutral position. “Even the annihilation of the hated 22nd Fleet did not quench the thirst. In fact, the navy mourned that loss.”

  “Mourned?” Shads couldn’t begin to understand that.

  “Yes, mourned. The Fleet wanted that very honor for itself. Most inconsiderate of the 22nd to disappear down a black hole.” The Master stretched, one vertebra at a time. “And the humans? They must know the Fleet is massing. They cannot doubt its goal. They ready their Fleets for the defense?”

  Shads was uncertain. It showed in his ears and the Master was quick to pick up on it.

  “Out with it,” he growled lowly.

  Surprised to hear the Master growl, Shads took a step back, forcing his ears to remain steady. “No, Master. In fact, the humans have sent their fleets in the opposite direction.”

  The Master’s eyes opened widely and that worried Shads. He’d never before caught the Master so off guard.

  “So? This is indeed interesting.”

  SEARCHER

  Lieutenant-Commander Britlot woke, rose and splashed water on his face. He hoped Feneya had it better than he. He wished he could have kept her, but he could not place so much responsibility on Sub-Lieutenant Krirtol. Besides, Weytok would have a much better chance of getting information from the Adians.

  He missed his crew, resented the presence of the marines, and had almost lost his temper with Commander Travlot, who had remained on board. He resented them all. At least he had until he realized the Commander was trying for that exact result. Then he relaxed and played the game. Every day the Commander interrogated him, seeing how far he would go, what he would reveal. Only on the fourteenth day of the voyage (to Chaos knew where) had Britlot realized that one line of the Commander’s questioning dealt with his lineage. Suddenly pieces of the puzzle fell into place and he was hit by a startled realization.

  “If you’ll excuse me for a moment, Commander, I have something you might like to see.”

  Travlot looked disgruntled, but acquiesced. Britlot went to his cabin, pulled the disc from his collection, returned and put it into the player.

  The two men sat in the wardroom room, facing each other across a table. Commander Travlot fixed Britlot with his icy stare and waited.

  “This, Commander, is the diary of my great, great—several times—grandfather. You might find it interesting.” He sent it to the bookmark.

  * * *

  “We won. I think we won. But the cost. Cartene is gone. Blasted out of space. Newest battleship in the fleet. We thought she was unstoppable. The Tlartox stopped her, but they paid.”

  Commander Travlot’s interest peaked, just as Britlot suspected it might. The man watched, fascinated. Britlot looked up at the clock and realized that he should relieve Krirtol soon. She would have to wait, he decided. This had priority. Finally the diary entry ended.

  “And you say this man is a relative of yours?”

  “He began my line. I,” Britlot related, “am his direct descendant, named after him. I am also the last of my line.”

  “Not necessarily, Captain.”

  Travlot’s icy demeanor had thawed somewhat, but his words closed like a fist around Britlot’s chest. He could hardly breathe.

  “So this,” he indicated the diary, “caused you to begin looking for us?”

  “Correct.”

  “We never knew anyone who had escaped the Phenomenon had returned to the Confederation.”

  “It was close. Hell, I’m surprised that we got away.”

  Travlot stared at him. “You also?”

  “Scrambled every volatile memory in every computer we had. Another few minutes and we might have been torn to pieces.”

  “Ah, we wondered about that.”

  “About what?”

  “Why there were no databases for the star systems you must have come through to reach us.”

  Britlot shook his head. “Why didn’t you just ask to look at the log entries?”

  “Too easy. So our navigator did a little searching on the sly. Sub-Lieutenant Krirtol is vigilant. She wouldn’t allow us access to the main computers. Quite right. I wouldn’t allow it myself, were our positions reversed.”

  Britlot couldn’t concentrate on that. His thoughts flew elsewhere. “I have family? Living?” A weight, he hadn’t realized even existed, lifted. He felt free.

  “If you are who you say you are, of a certainty. It was your name which captured our attention. A very Adian name and, as far as we knew, none were left behind.”

  “None are—now.”

  The ISB opened. “Captain to the bridge.”

  “Welcome home, Lieutenant-Commander.”

  WINTER SKY

  Lieutenant Feneya Weytok’s anger showed in the way she held her head, in her stiff back and in her flashing dark eyes. She’d had just about enough of the Adians. If she were in
charge of this mission, she’d turn about and head for home immediately.

  But she wasn’t in charge. In fact nothing remained in her charge, not even her own crewmembers, who had transferred with her to the Adian destroyer, Winter Sky. She had not even seen them since the transfer. Lieutenant Sharden, who seemed to be her keeper, insisted she was a guest, but she felt more like a prisoner of war.

  The softness of Sharden’s manner disguised her purpose, yet Weytok knew an interrogation when she saw it. And, here, she not only saw it, she experienced it—daily. She boiled.

  “I’d like to see the rest of my crew today,” she answered to a question about Fleet social events.

  “I’m very sorry, that is not possible at this time.” If Lieutenant Sharden thought her smile robbed the denial of its harshness she was mistaken.

  Feneya had had enough. She returned Sharden’s smile and stood slowly. She stretched, then calmly placed herself between the door and Adian Lieutenant. “Make it possible.”

  Sharden tensed at the threat in Feneya’s voice. “Pardon?”

  “Make it possible or you will not leave this room intact.” The threat was out. “And if I hear that door open behind me I’ll be all over you. Just so we are clear on that point.”

  “In the Adian Navy we expect better of our guests,” Sharden remonstrated mildly.

  “In the Confederation Navy we expect much better from our hosts.”

  Sharden smiled again and toggled a console switch. “Captain, Lieutenant Sharden reporting. Lieutenant Weytok has made a most forceful request that the other Confederation crewmen be brought here. She wishes to ensure they are behaving themselves.”

  “Understood.” The single word was the first time Weytok had heard the voice of Winter Sky’s captain.

  Ten minutes later the door chime sounded. The Confederation Lieutenant moved to stand behind the Adian’s chair, drawing an amused smile from that same, as she bade those outside enter.

  Engineer Uraphret led Spacers Dorvon and Dhine into the room. They appeared as relieved to see their Lieutenant as she to see them. Two Adian Marines remained outside the open door. Weytok turned to Sharden.

  “You are dismissed.”

  Sharden stood, considered Weytok for a moment, then shrugged and left.

  For a time the four Confederation spacers simply looked at each other. None seemed inclined to speak and this told Weytok volumes. “It is good to see you,” she finally told them. “I trust your stay here has been as enjoyable as mine.” Eyebrows rose at the sarcasm in her voice. All three nodded.

  “Gentlemen, Lady, we are not in the hands of friends. Even so, we will continue to comport ourselves properly and with dignity. However, we will no longer answer any questions put to us by our hosts.” The way she said ‘hosts’ again raised eyebrows. “Is this understood?”

  “Yes, sir!”

  “Very good. I will see each of you every day from this point on. I can see no good reason why this should not happen. Is that understood?”

  “Yes, sir!” The relief of her crew expressed itself in a shared long exhale.

  “Good. You are dismissed.”

  Dorvon opened the door and walked out into the custody of the marines, followed by the other two. Weytok remained where she stood. Lieutenant Sharden re-entered.

  “I expect to see my crew on a daily basis,” she told the grim-faced Lieutenant. “Otherwise I will assume that I am in hostile hands. I think we all understand that.” She looked pointedly at the communications console. “This interview is at an end.” Weytok saluted, turned and strode out the door.

  Lieutenant Sharden smiled, wryly amused, and shook her head gently as she watched Weytok’s retreating back. She toggled another switch on the comm console, rose and left the room also. She walked briskly down the passageways until she came to the Captain’s day cabin.

  “Enter, Lieutenant.”

  “You heard everything, sir?”

  “Everything,” he confirmed. He looked at the gathered officers. “Very instructive. I had expected this to either happen earlier or not at all. Very correct was our Lieutenant Weytok.” The officers nodded their agreement.

  “And her request, sir?”

  The Captain grinned. “Granted, of course, Lieutenant. After all, we wish to be good hosts.”

  * * *

  Much to her surprise, Lieutenant Weytok had nothing further to complain of. The Adians behaved with utmost respect, allowed her access to her crew (whom they no longer kept separate but bunked in the midshipmen’s quarters) and allowed the freedom of their mess.

  “They’ve changed their tune, Lieutenant,” Comm-Op Dhine told her. “We’ve even had friendly visits from some of their spacers.”

  “Yes, I’ve experienced the same. They’ve actually invited me to dine in the wardroom with the Captain this evening. I don’t trust this turnaround, and neither should the rest of you.” She looked from one to the other. “I’m more than satisfied with your deportment during these difficult circumstances.” She smiled to put them at ease. “However, they still deny me access to our Captain or anyone else aboard Searcher, so we’ll just keep playing it straight.”

  If this upset the crew, they gave no sign. Lieutenant Weytok motioned to her escort and began the return walk to her quarters.

  Halfway there, Lieutenant Sharden intercepted her. “Ah, Lieutenant, I was looking for you,” she greeted Weytok, waving away the marine. “I thought you might accompany me to the hot-box.”

  Weytok didn’t know what a hot-box was and took the request as an order given politely. She nodded, not wishing to make an issue of it. It had been a long day and she felt gritty, ready for a wash-up in her quarters or, better, a shower back on Searcher.

  Sharden led her down passages she had not yet seen and into an exercise room where three officers worked up a sweat on various equipments. The two women walked past them and into a small change room where Lieutenant Sharden began stripping off her clothes. No exercise outfits hung on the hooks, only a stack of towels on the shelf.

  Somewhat taken aback, Weytok hesitated before she followed suit. Now naked, Sharden threw her a towel, grabbed another for herself and led the way into a small wood-paneled room. Weytok wrapped the towel around herself as she followed Sharden. Inside, an intense heat radiated from a squat structure with what looked like stones on top of it. Almost immediately Weytok felt herself starting to sweat.

  Two wooden benches resided on one wall, one higher than the other. Sharden sat on the lower bench, dipped a ladle into a bucket of water and poured the contents over the stones. Clouds of steam billowed up, obscuring the Adian from her sight for a moment.

  When the clouds had somewhat abated, a surprised Weytok saw that Sharden had removed her towel and simply used it to sit on. Not wanting to appear ignorant, Weytok followed her lead. Sharden leaned back against the upper bench and sighed.

  “Lieutenant Sharden,” Weytok began, but was interrupted.

  “Eraphene,” Sharden corrected her. “I am very much off duty and, in my present state of dress,” she looked down at herself and giggled, “or should I say ‘my present state of undress’, I find it difficult to stand on ceremony. Friends just call me Era.”

  “All right, Era. Feneya,” Weytok replied.

  “Feneya, nice name.”

  “Thank you.” Weytok wondered where this new tack would lead, thinking it might be better to leave. Sharden—Era, must have read her mind.

  “Can’t leave yet, Feneya, you have no clothes.”

  “Pardon?”

  “I gave the high sign as we entered the gym. Attendants have taken your clothes,” she broke off as Feneya looked at her in alarm and giggled, “and mine. They’ll be cleaned and returned, but not for a bit, yet.” Era leaned forward and poured more water over the hot stones. Clouds billowed again.

  “I thought you could use a little relaxation.”

  Feneya felt anything but relaxed. She considered wrapping her towel about her once more, but decided
against it. Sweat now came freely from her pores.

  “Must be tough, being cooped up in that little scout for weeks on end. Me, this is the smallest vessel I’ve been stationed on.”

  “Months,” Feneya corrected.

  “Months?”

  Chaos be damned, it was no secret. “We’ve been looking for you for months.”

  “Poor girl,” Era sympathized. “Have you at least a man-friend on board?” She stretched and Feneya looked her over. She had a figure that men in the Fleet would enjoy, Feneya thought.

  Era didn’t worry when she made no reply. “I had one, but he transferred,” she said. She looked away for a moment, remembering. “Now, Lieutenant Ritper has thoughts of filling his shoes—and my bed—but I don’t think so. I’m not that lonely.”

  Feneya laughed and relaxed back against the bench. Sharden merely engaged in woman-talk. “I know what you mean. When I was a subbie on the training ship, there was this lieutenant. Uglier than the backside of Krazten’s moon and with breath that would peel paint, but he thought that two months on the trainer would make me receptive.” She shook her head at the memory.

  “Men. Same in any fleet, I suspect.” They laughed together.

  “More water, I think,” Feneya suggested. She breathed shallowly as the clouds of steam engulfed her.

  “Can you take a little more?”

  “More?”

  “Heat. It’s hotter up top. I just love the hot-box. Unfortunately, it is booked up pretty solidly. I don’t get in here nearly often enough.”

  They moved to the upper bench. If Feneya had thought the lower bench hot, she’d been mistaken. Now, she experienced hot. She felt her head start to swim. Next thing she knew she was lying down on the lower bench, an anxious Era looking down on her, apologizing furiously.

  “I’m sorry. I should have realized you wouldn’t be accustomed to it. Your small ship wouldn’t have a hot-box. I’m an idiot.”

  “I’m fine. Just a little too hot up there.” Surprisingly enough, she did feel fine. The cooler temperature of the bottom bench revived her, and she liked heat. She looked past Era and realized that the other woman had cracked the door open. The room had lost temperature quickly. She sat and accepted the glass of cool water. “Thank you, but could you close the door, you’re letting out all the heat.”