by Peter Grant
Dunsinane frowned angrily. Had Saul pulled a switch on him? Had he, perhaps, sold some of the missing pods to someone else, on his way to Callanish? He pulled up their correspondence, and read rapidly. No, Saul had stated right from the start that there were only nineteen missile pods aboard the erstwhile Molly Malone, even before he stole her. Had he lied? It seemed unlikely. Was Hawkwood, then, lying about their capabilities? Did they not have as many, or as modern, weapons as they claimed?
He was still puzzling over the discrepancy two weeks later, when a fast courier vessel arrived with correspondence from an insurance broker on Mayhaven. A corporation there had filed a claim for their spaceship, which had been stolen while in orbit around Constanta. Since it had been insured for full hull value, plus full cargo replacement value, with Rendall Insurance of Callanish, the broker had submitted the claim documentation to the company for payment.
The president of Rendall paled when he saw the figures, and immediately called Dunsinane. “I… we… we can’t pay it, sir.”
“What do you mean, you can’t pay it?”
“Sir, the cargo… the claim is for thirty-two brand-new missile pods. They’re valued at over twenty-one billion kronor! The moment we got the policy notification and premium, a few weeks ago, I realized the risk was too great. I began laying it off at once in the reinsurance market, particularly with your colleagues in the Consortium, but we haven’t had time to cover even half of it yet.”
Sudden acid flooded Dunsinane’s stomach, and he felt bile rise in his throat. “Why the devil didn’t you warn me?”
“I did, sir. I sent you a message the same day the premium arrived.”
Dunsinane’s fingers scrabbled at his console, searching through his inbox. Yes – there it was, along with a few dozen other messages from Rendall Insurance awaiting his attention. He’d ignored them in his intense focus on what was happening at Constanta… and that now looked likely to cost him a fortune.
The executive continued, “The balance of the claim, after reinsurers cover their portion, will consume every kronor we’ve got, and then some. Because this is an interplanetary claim, sir, that’ll put us in violation of United Planets insurance regulations, because we’ll have no reserves left to cover another claim. They’ll make good from the Interplanetary Insurance Reserve Fund whatever we can’t pay, then they’ll sue us to recover it. It’ll bankrupt us, sir.”
The executive’s voice trembled with worry as he faced the certainty of unemployment; but Dunsinane knew he was at risk for far worse than that. The reality of the situation smashed down on him like a hammer. He was unable to speak for a moment, so great was his consternation as the other stated the obvious. “You’re the owner, Chairman and Managing Director of Rendall, sir. Under Callanish law, I’m afraid the authorities may believe you’ve failed in your fiduciary duty to the company, because they’re going to have to draw down our planetary gold and hard currency reserves to pay out the claim off-planet, in terms of United Planets requirements.”
“I… ah… I’ll call you back.” Dunsinane’s voice sounded strangled, even in his own ears, almost as if he were choking. He replaced the receiver, very slowly and carefully.
I’m trapped! I can’t claim Hawkwood is lying about the missiles, because I daren’t produce Molly Malone and her cargo as evidence. She’s stolen property. If she shows up in my hands, how can I explain where I got her without incriminating myself? Questioning under a truth-tester – which Hawkwood is sure to demand – will bring out the facts, and put me behind bars. She’s not recorded as being here, anyway – her name is Ponzey now. Hawkwood can produce their own bill of lading, plus that inspection report, to prove their claim about her cargo. Interplanetary insurance inspectors are bound to accept them as valid, in the absence of any evidence to disprove them. Rendall Insurance is on the hook for the ship, plus all those non-existent missiles. They’re going to liquidate my company, and take everything I own. I’m ruined!
Dimly, through the turmoil and despair filling his brain, he recalled Pentland’s advice not to start something he could not finish. The man had been right, curse him! Hawkwood had set him up! Molly Malone’s new name was proof of that. Charles Ponzi had been one of the greatest con-men and swindlers in the history of Old Home Earth, before the Space Age had begun. Using his name for the freighter, albeit slightly misspelled, was nothing less than a deliberate taunt by Hawkwood. They must have known about his plans all along, and had waited for the right moment to bring them crashing down around his ears.
Blood pounding in his ears, eyes struggling to focus, a sudden headache filling his brain with stabbing, crippling agony, his left arm going numb, he fumbled with his comm unit… but his hands would no longer obey him. He tried to push his plushly upholstered chair back from his desk, but his foot slipped as he fell sideways. He tumbled to the thickly carpeted floor and lay there, struggling feebly, drooling, as his world faded to black amid an ocean of pain.
His secretary looked in half an hour later, concerned by his unaccustomed silence. She screamed, and frantically called for an ambulance. Her boss’s comatose form was rushed to hospital, where the finest doctors on Callanish worked through the evening into the night in a fruitless effort to revive him.
Dunsinane was wheeled into intensive care, still in a coma, and connected to machines that beeped and hummed day and night by his bedside. He could not hear them.
7
Progress
DEEP SPACE
Agim strode impatiently along the main passageway of the big freighter, glancing from time to time through the tiny, pressure-tested viewports letting passersby look into the massive, airless holds on either side. Space-suited figures worked to secure the last of the missile pods in the frameworks that had been erected to hold them. A carefully crafted wiring harness connected them to the fire control system built into an annex off the bridge, while thick cables plumbed them into the auxiliary reactor pod and generator installed in another hold.
“How long?” the leader demanded.
“Two more weeks, sir,” the engineer replied, as firmly as his nervousness would allow. He knew the consequences of displeasing this man, particularly concerning so critical a project.
“Why so long? You promised to have the first two ships ready in six months. It is now the seventh month, and only Butranti is ready for trials. This ship, Ilaria, will take even longer. What is the reason for the delay?”
“With respect, sir, it is the supply of materials for the wiring harness. We ordered what we expected to need, but found that the bulkheads between holds had been constructed in such a way that we could not lead it by the shortest path. We had to lead it outboard of the pods, instead of inboard along the passage bulkheads. That meant we needed a lot more wire – almost a hundred kilometers more, by the time all the connections were made and spliced.”
“Why did you not foresee that when you made your initial calculations?”
“Sir, with respect, we have no blueprints or schematics for these ships. We could not plan with certainty. We shall face the same problem with the next two vessels as well, because all four fast freighters came from different shipyards, and are built to different designs. We cannot simply duplicate what we have already done. Until we take off plating and look beneath it, to see where we can run our wiring harness and power cables, we can only estimate, not guarantee.”
Agim paused, forcing down his irritation. He had to admit, the engineer had a point. Considering those handicaps, he had done a good job, shoehorning ten missile pods and an auxiliary reactor into Ilaria’s central holds. He deserved commendation for that, despite the delay.
“Very well. I accept your explanation. Under the circumstances, you and your technicians have done a very good job. There will be bonuses for all of you when the work on this ship is completed, and we shall give you a couple of weeks off before you start on the next two vessels. I shall send a transport to bring your team to Patos for some rest and relaxation, and to vis
it your families.”
“Th-thank you, sir!” The engineer’s joyful relief was unfeigned. This was a better response than he had dared to hope for.
“I shall leave you now. I want to attend Butranti’s firing trials.”
“Of course, sir. Thank you for visiting us. We are honored.”
As Butranti headed out toward the asteroid belt in the deserted star system, Agim borrowed the Captain’s office for an impromptu discussion with Fatmir, who had just arrived from Patos.
“What news?” Agim demanded, without preamble.
“The destroyer contract is signed. The shipyard has already ordered long-lead-time parts and systems for our first two warships. It is opening a disused construction way for them while it waits, and hiring more staff. It will begin constructing hull modules next month, and begin assembling them in four months, as soon as major systems have been installed. Our first destroyers should be ready seven to eight months from now, if all goes well.”
“What is this ‘if all goes well’? Have they not agreed to a date?”
“Yes, but they are dependent on parts and systems reaching them from other suppliers. If those are delayed, the shipyard is affected.”
His boss sighed. “I have just learned that these freighter conversions will also take longer than planned, also for reasons outside the engineers’ control. Sometimes I long for the magic wand wielded by wizards and witches in our children’s stories!”
Fatmir sniggered. “It would be nice, yes; but sadly… Speaking of these freighters, there is another problem affecting them, and our destroyers as well.”
“Oh?”
“We lack spacers to crew them all. Each freighter needs at least a hundred and twenty spacers, triple her normal crew, to maintain the missile installations, pod reactor, and wiring and power harness, and operate the fire control system when needed, in addition to normal shipboard duties. Each destroyer will have a crew of one hundred and eighty to two hundred spacers, depending on whether we plan to provide boarding and search parties or prize crews, or destroy captured vessels without seizing them for ourselves. There is also their depot ship – another two to three hundred. We also have the existing crews for our two older destroyers, rescued from the scrapyard and refurbished, plus our freighters, asteroid recovery and communications vessels, and our refinery ship. If you put all that together, we shall need more than three thousand trained officers and spacers within three to four years from now. We currently have less than a thousand. Where shall we find the rest?”
Agim cursed. “I should have foreseen this! The trouble is, I am not a spacer. I can handle almost anything planetside, but out here… all the things these people do on shipboard is a mystery to me.” He thought for a moment. “We cannot possibly raise that many spacers from among our own people. We are already thinly stretched to cover all our commitments. I think, for a start, we must retire our old destroyers, and use their crews aboard our new ships when they are ready.”
“I agree. Should we open spacer positions to our women?”
“Remember what the Patriarch said. Women should never be exposed to danger, because they are the future of our race. It is our privilege and duty, as men, to protect them, if necessary with our own bodies and our own lives.”
“But, in that case, we shall have all our very expensive ships, and no-one to operate some of them.”
Agim thought for a moment. “What of the sort of planets where Ylli got our missiles? He said most of them were backward dictatorships. Bureaucrats and officers in such places were all too eager to take bribes, that might allow them to escape to a better place. If their officers are open to such persuasion, could we use some of their spacers and junior officers on contract? We could pay the spacers a pittance, and make sure they stay out here, so they are not tempted to desert. Their senior officers back home would get most of the money.”
Fatmir perked up at once. “Yes! That would give us time to train more of our people, and upgrade the training of our present spacers to make more of them supervisors. The foreigners could fill in at the lowest levels. Agim, that is brilliant!”
Agim shook his head sourly. “It is not brilliant – merely expedient. We shall send Ylli to seek out suitable planets, and discuss our needs with those who may be willing to help us.”
The following morning, Butranti’s commanding officer briefed Agim and Fatmir on what they were about to see.
“Our engineers have installed openings for ten missile pods in the belly of the ship, covered with sliding doors to conceal them from prying eyes that may come too close when we are in orbit. Among other things, we shall test the doors with repeated opening and closing, and see if the framework supporting the pods is sufficiently strong and stable to withstand the strain of launching our weapons.
“There is also the difficulty that our pods came from five different planets. Each used a different type of missile, with different performance. We have programmed our fire control system as best we can to accommodate that, but we have yet to test it. This we shall do over the next few days. We shall launch several of each type of missile, to see whether its parameters in the system are accurate, and modify them if they are not.”
“Will that not waste a great many missiles?” Agim demanded. “They are very expensive.”
“Yes, sir, they are; but if we do not know how to control them, and fire them accurately at an enemy, we may as well be unarmed. Tests are essential. What we learn here will be applied aboard all four of our armed freighters.”
“Oh, very well. I suppose you are right. Continue, please.”
“Thank you, sir. Finally, we need to fine-tune the fire control system and how we use it. It is a computer program that runs on hardware originally designed to scan an asteroid field, picking out potentially valuable rocks and sending mining craft to investigate them. Such systems use long-range sensor arrays, like those of warships. The new software uses them for target detection and missile control instead. It is said to be very good, and our initial tests have been promising. However, they were conducted without firing actual weapons. We shall do that this week.”
“What if the missiles have different speeds or ranges?” Fatmir asked, clearly fascinated. “Surely that means you cannot fire them all together?”
“That is correct, sir. We shall assess what is best for a given target. For example, the missiles obtained from Keda are our most modern, with a powered range of six million kilometers. They will be optimum for use against enemy warships, to keep them as far away as possible. The missiles from Panatti are the oldest and slowest, with a range of only three and a half million kilometers. We should use those against unarmed targets such as enemy freighters, because we can close in on them, getting into range without fear of retaliation. We should keep our higher-performance missiles in reserve for more threatening situations.”
“I see. Why not divide the missiles in such a way that one freighter has all the fast, long-range ones, and another all the slow, shorter-range ones? Each ship could then deal with a specific type of engagement, without worrying about which of its missile pods contains which sort of missile.”
“Sir, what if a ship encounters a situation for which her missiles are not optimum? We cannot anticipate what will be needed, and we may not be operating with another ship better equipped to deal with the problem. Better to give each ship an equal share of all the different types of missile, so it can tailor its firing pattern to the needs of the moment.”
“That makes sense,” Agim agreed. He had grown interested in the technical discussion despite himself. He nodded at the captain with respect. “I can see why the Patriarch recommended you to me as a competent officer. If you continue to perform well in command of Butranti, I shall offer you a choice; command of either a division of all four of our armed fast freighters, or a detachment of two of our new destroyers when they come online.”
“Thank you, sir!”
“Thank me when you have earned your promotion. Now, let us
see how our new toys work.”
PATOS
Two weeks later, Agim and Fatmir returned to Patos. They were ready to brief Endrit about the success of the missile tests, but he had more important news.
“There is word from Constanta and Callanish. Our people set up the theft of Hawkwood’s missile reserves. Dunsinane’s man succeeded in stealing the ship containing them, but all their modern missiles had been removed. What is worse, Hawkwood apparently knew that this was planned. They stored all their unserviceable missiles on an old, worn-out freighter, and let Dunsinane’s man steal that. They may even have cooperated with him. They insured what they claim was its cargo with Dunsinane’s own insurance company. They have now filed a claim for more than seven billion Neue Helvetica francs for their ‘stolen’ missiles. As a result, Dunsinane is bankrupt, and has suffered a stroke. He is comatose in hospital, and the word is he will not recover. His insurance company has closed its doors. The claim is now being handled through United Planets insurance regulators.”
Agim cursed bitterly. “So Hawkwood will soon have more billions, with which to buy even more weapons!”
“I fear so. Worse than that, our people on Constanta set up a sabotage attack on the planet’s space station. It was timed to coincide with the theft of Hawkwood’s missiles, so we could blame the thieves for the attack. Instead, three of our agents were intercepted before they could attack. It is not known whether they were taken alive, but they were certainly dead when their bodies were shown on Constanta news media the following day. Wounds were visible on their corpses, as if they had been shot, but we do not know whether that was how they died, or whether the shots were fired after their interrogation and execution, to mislead us. They were identified only as ‘interplanetary anarchist terrorists’. We were not mentioned.”
