Act of War

by R. L. Giddings

  “Who do they think you are?”

  “Petty Officer 2nd class Alain Derringer.”

  “I know Derringer and you look nothing like him. Plus, he must weigh half of what you weigh.”

  “But they don’t know that.”

  “Maybe not. Unless they have access to our manifest.”

  “Do they have access to our manifest?”

  Hermandal, like the rest of the crew, clearly thought she knew a great deal more than she actually did.

  “Not that I’m aware of. I’m supposed to be meeting with the XO but he keeps cancelling on me.”

  “You need to find out,” he said before checking himself and softening his tone. “It would be useful if you could find out.”

  “Because you’re not on the manifest?”

  “That’s right.”

  The Marines had encountered Hermendal working as a translator on-board the first Da’al ship they’d encountered but Morton suspected that that was only one part of his particular skill set.

  “What exactly is it that you’re so worried about? I’ve spoken to their XO – he considers us more of a storage problem than anything else. Trust me, they have no intention of interrogating any of us.”

  “When I was captured, I assumed that my identity would be protected. I was prepared to help your senior officers only on the understanding that I would be well looked after.”

  Morton found herself becoming irritated by Hermendal’s inflated sense of himself. A significant amount of those officers he was talking about were now dead. The idea that they had somehow broken their word to him, she found offensive in the extreme.

  “Are you still concerned about the Da’al? Is that it? We’ve seen them off now, surely. They won’t be coming back in a hurry.”

  “That’s the thing,” Hermandal seemed suddenly to deflate. “The Anjharan Da’al don’t work like that. They don’t get discouraged. They don’t give up. They come after whatever it is they want and they take it. Be under no illusion, the Da’al are coming back. I just don’t want to be here when they do.”

  Morton found another towel and quickly fashioned it into a turban. For some reason, this helped to calm her.

  “Okay, I understand what you’re saying but I doubt the Yakutians will want to hang around here longer than they have to. Once they’ve finished whatever it is they’re doing they’ll be keen to move on. Probably straight back to their home system.”

  “I wouldn’t be so sure. This XO you spoke with wasn’t being totally honest with you. The Yakutians have something on-board even their own people don’t know about.”

  Morton gave him a quizzical look. Hermendal’s talents didn’t end with linguistics. He had a peculiar skill, in that, if he asked you to do something, you’d find it almost impossible to refuse him.

  “What sort of thing are you talking about? Some kind of weapon?”

  “I have no idea. But from the people I’ve spoken with, I’m certain that something’s going on.”

  “I didn’t know that you spoke Yakutian.”

  “I speak most languages.”

  There was a confidence about this rebuttal that warned her off from questioning him further.

  Hermendal checked over his shoulder to ensure that there was no one around.

  “I wouldn’t have realised that anything was wrong until I asked someone about why we’re being kept here.”

  “What’s odd about that? They want to keep us isolated from the rest of the crew. Seems perfectly reasonable to me.”

  “There’s another, larger area towards the rear of the ship which is designed for carrying hazardous loads. It’s properly fortified. By all accounts, you could set a bomb off in there and it wouldn’t undermine the ship’s integrity. An ideal place, you might think, for storing potentially hostile foreign nationals.”

  “It probably suits them to keep quiet about it,” Morton said. “Gives them an excuse not to have to pick up any more survivors.”

  “Only I think there’s more to it than that,” Hermendal stepped closer, lowering his voice. “That whole area has been sealed off. Even the surrounding corridors are out-of-bounds.”

  “And you think there’s something in there?”

  “I know there’s something in there, my dear, and I fully intend to find out what it is.”

  CHAPTER SIX

  The Dardelion’s Search and Rescue mission was now in its eighth day but today’s haul was considerably down on previous days.

  Part of that was down to the distances involved – in order to get clear of the Mantis, the escape pods were fired off in a variety of different directions so that the longer a rescue team delayed, the wider the area they’d have to cover overtime. The other problem was that the robotic arm still wasn’t fixed. While they had managed to repair it initially, it had never regained its original dexterity and, twice now, Webster had been forced to watch as escape pods, which he thought he’d secured, simply slipped through his fingers.

  In order to reduce the likelihood of this happening again, Silva had been forced to significantly reduce the speed of their approach. As a compromise, this seemed to work but it was ultimately a lot more time consuming. On the first day of the operation they had managed to collect nineteen pods.

  Today, after a straight twelve hour shift, they had only managed to collect four.

  Markham had decided to join him for the end of this session. It helped Webster to have someone to talk to during these long shifts. Kept him focussed. It was too easy to drift off if he was left on his own for too long.

  “Where we going to put these things when we’re finished?” Markham asked.

  It was a fair question and one for which Webster had yet to come up with an answer.

  Perhaps change the earlier de-frosting solution to later.

  “The obvious answer, I suppose, would be to off-load the pods we have got onto Blackthorn. Let us carry out the search on our own.”

  “That would be a great idea,” Markham said. “Except for one thing.”

  “And that is?”

  “Blackthorn might well let us dock at first but, once we’re there, they’re liable to impound our vessel.”

  Webster gave him a blank look but then he had to smile.

  “You’re suggesting that we stole it from them in the first place.”

  “Technically, ex-governor Ardent didn’t have the authority to commandeer it.”

  “If she didn’t have the authority, how come her access codes still worked? I think this is more an issue for Blackthorn’s on-line security people than it is for us.”

  “I’ll remind you of that, sir, when we’re both in the same prison cell. Also, I think Blackthorn have got enough problems of their own. When the Mantis knocked them off line, it did a really excellent job. If they don’t get that orbit of theirs stabilised, and soon, it’s only going to be a matter of time before we’re looking at them re-entering the planet’s atmosphere.”

  “I’d like to know how Governor Parnashikan intends to deal with that.”

  “It’s one thing to snipe from the sidelines,” Markham observed. “Quite another to be the man in the chair having to make those decisions.”

  The exchange of glances was brief yet significant.

  “They seem to have some idea what it is they intend doing,” Webster said. “They’re lining up a whole fleet of tugs as we speak. Whether that’s going to be enough to get them back into position, we’ll have to wait and see.”

  They were interrupted by the sound of Silva’s voice over the intercom.

  “Commander, there’s been a development. I suggest you get up here right away.”

  *

  “How long has she been out there?” Webster had sprinted up to the flight deck and had yet to gather his breath.

  “Not sure,” Silva sounded defensive. “We’ve been too busy scanning for pods to notice much else. A couple of hours at most.”

  “A couple of hours!” Webster said. That didn’t say much f
or their security arrangements.

  What if the other ship had meant to attack them - what then?

  “And you’re absolutely sure it’s the Renheim?”

  Silva indicated the data flooding across her screen.

  “Absolutely. Why would it be anything else?”

  “Just a thought. Have you tried hailing her?”

  “I thought it best to wait until you were here.”

  Adiche, the Marine standing in as comms operator started working her way through the USDC hailing procedure. It was all carefully structured with Adiche repeating the Dardelion’s details over and over. Since she wasn’t registered as a Confederation vessel, the crew of the Renheim would no doubt be checking their background before responding. But Webster was fine with all that. In fact, he found the sound of Adiche’s West African accent deeply relaxing.

  His relief at having a friendly vessel in-system was enormous. While not the biggest ship in the fleet, Renheim came fully equipped and would have all the resources necessary to organise a full-scale SAR operation. He couldn’t be absolutely sure but he seemed to recall that the Renheim was equipped with two shuttles, both of which would be able to help in the search.

  But the key asset that the Renheim had was her storage capacity. He wasn’t sure how many pods she’d be able to take but it would be a lot more than the Dardelion could currently handle.

  After about ten minutes of cross examinations, the comms officer finally seemed to be convinced that they were who they said they were, giving the authorisation for a video link to be established.

  Captain Claus Meyer appeared ill at ease in front of the camera, constantly looking off screen as though distracted by something.

  “Commander Webster, is it? I believe we’ve met. You were one of the officers who entertained us when we came aboard the Mantis.”

  Prim and humourless, Meyer had the air of the petty bureaucrat he would have surely become if his father hadn’t ranked so highly in the service. He had the sort of face you might see a thousand times and instantly forget.

  “That is correct, sir, a pleasure to see you again.”

  “Yes, yes, yes, I’m sure. Now please tell me what has become of the Mantis and, more importantly, Captain Faulkner.”

  Webster quickly re-counted what had gone on in the last few weeks, though he found that he couldn’t quite bring himself to describe Faulkner as missing, presumed dead. Meyer seemed to draw his own conclusions on this and so didn’t push him on the details.

  “Might I ask what the Renheim is doing back in the system?” Webster asked. “The last time we spoke you were heading back to Lincoln Station.”

  “Would that we were there now,” Meyer said wistfully. “But, as you know, we’re in a fast moving situation at present. I trust that you have been apprised of the fact that we are now at war with the Empire?”

  “To be honest, you’re the first Confederation officer to confirm it. We had been told by the captain of the Serrayu but it’s good to get an official confirmation. I’d appreciate the opportunity to discuss the long term implications at a later date.”

  He was hinting that Meyer might like to invite him to dinner but Meyer had other ideas.

  “I would normally appreciate an opportunity to discuss such matters, even with a junior officer like yourself, but, unfortunately, time is pressing. My orders necessitate me briefing you on the current situation before moving on to my main operational objective.”

  Webster’s relief was quickly replaced with a dark sense of foreboding. If he thought that the arrival of the Renheim was going to bring him salvation, he was going to have to think again.

  “Captain Meyer, you must understand the grave nature of the situation we are facing. We have a perfect opportunity here to act decisively in order to save the lives of our fellow spacers. IF we don’t act now, there’s no telling where these pods might end up.”

  Once he’d finished, Meyer calmly folded his arms, staring levelly back at the camera.

  “I recognise your dilemma, commander, but you must also recognise mine. In time of war we must all embrace the unpleasant truth that command decisions always take priority. You have my sympathies. Captain Faulkner was always something of a maverick. If he’d stuck to his allotted task the Mantis would still be in one piece and you wouldn’t be forced to go cap in hand to anyone who came calling.”

  Yes, and seven hundred thousand people would now be dead.

  Meyer continued, “I’m afraid that your captain brought this down on all your heads. You have my sympathy, commander, but I have my orders.”

  Webster could feel his anger rising. Here was a man who was the complete antithesis of Faulkner. Someone who would rather hide behind a raft of regulations than do what was right. A man who, let it not be forgotten, had previously abandoned his post in order to run from the enemy. A man, so well versed in Admiralty politics, that he would never even be admonished for abandoning his colleagues like this, let alone prosecuted.

  Meyer was still talking. “We have received a number of directives from the Admiralty stipulating our changing roles in this new conflict. Yours is directed towards Captain Faulkner but, in his absence, I’ll send it over to you instead. Other than that, commander, I wish you and your crew …”

  Webster cut him off before he could finish.

  “Captain Meyer, that will have to wait. I have time-sensitive information at my disposal which I can only reveal to you in person.”

  The clear inference was that he had information appertaining to the safety of the Renheim and her crew. To disregard it, Meyer might be opening himself up to the accusation that he’d be recklessly endangering his crew if he ignored it.

  But Meyer wasn’t biting. “As I’ve already stated, we are under strict orders to continue with our mission, so I’m afraid I will have to decline your offer.”

  Silva was pointing to her screen. He could see that it was a section from the Admiralty Code of Conduct but that was all he could see. She transferred the image over to one of the larger smartscreens so that Webster could read it more easily.

  It took him a moment to scan the relevant details. “Captain Meyer, under Article 7, Subsection 24 as acting commander of the USDC Dardelion I duly request a face-to-face meeting where we might discuss information pertinent to the success or failure of your current mission. Do you concur?”

  “Now, look here, Webster,” Meyer stared straight at the camera, only the flare of his nostrils hinting at the depth of his feeling. He meant to go on but some small sense of self-preservation prevented him. He glared at the crewmen surrounding him in the clear hope that one of them might be able to offer a solution to his current predicament, but none was forthcoming.

  After a protracted wait he said, “Very well, Commander, you appear to have left me no choice in the matter. If you would like to suggest a time and a venue for this meeting, I will concur.”

  Webster suggested the venue and was about to insist that it take place right away but Silva gave him a warning look and he back-tracked, giving Meyer the courtesy of a few more hours to prepare. Meyer broke the connection without any attempt at the normal pleasantries.

  Silva came over to stand by him.

  “I’m really looking forward to hearing all this time-sensitive intelligence you keep talking about.”

  He shook his head. “Never going to happen. Information like that is well above your pay grade.”

  “Of course it is. It’s probably concerned with those little details I couldn’t possibly hope to understand – like the fact that the Dardelion isn’t a USDC ship and never has been.”

  “That’s an excellent point, lieutenant, and one which I intend to resolve before the start of our next meeting.”

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Morton was just leaving her meeting with Sunderam when she next saw Hermendal.

  The meeting hadn’t gone well. She’d gone into the meeting with six points she needed to address concerning the welfare of the Mantis crew member
s and Sunderam had dismissed the first four out of hand. They’d then spent ten minutes discussing the fifth point which was to do with the prisoners’ bathroom facilities being locked over-night. There had been something odd about the bathroom facilities from the start. For instance, there was only one set so everyone had had to compromise. It didn’t seem to bother the men so much but the women were a different matter. Even in a time of crisis, they didn’t appreciate men wandering around when they were going to the bathroom. She had been stressing the importance of female prisoners needing access to these facilities around the clock when Sunderam had been called away.

  The sixth point, which they never got around to, concerned the ongoing search for survivors from the Mantis. It had been ten days since any new pods had been found and she was starting to think that she was letting down those people who were yet to be recovered. She might not have any real influence on these matters but it was down to her as the senior officer to at least try.

  So it was nice to see Hermendal, who seemed to be back to his normal, cheery self. He was standing over by a set of doors, accompanied by two guards.

  On seeing her, he spoke briefly to the guards before striding over.

  Hermendal walked straight past her, indicating for her to follow. She was concerned about what the guards’ reaction to that might be but she didn’t need to be. The two guards fell into step behind him, as though he was the one in charge, and she had to hurry to catch him.

  At the T-junction at the end of the corridor, Hermendal pointed to the left, sending the guards off in that direction while he led Morton off to the right.

  “What are you doing?” Morton hissed. “You’re going to get us into trouble.”

  Hermendal looked back in the direction the guards had gone. “Don’t worry about them. They’re off to the mess for a spot of lunch. They’ll wait for us here if we’re not back in time.”

  “In time for what?”

  “I’ll explain later. Down here is mostly maintenance stuff. There’s not much through traffic, though I’d prefer it if no one saw us at all.”