Death Ship Quest Page 2

  “You may go in, Captain.” The voice of the aide manning the desk behind him made Kas jump involuntarily. Summoning his courage, Kas knocked on the real wood door. The door slid aside, and he entered the office. The man behind the cluttered desk -- more real wood -- was hardly impressive. Past middle age, he seemed average in height, though broad of shoulder. His salt-and-pepper hair, thinning and trimmed somewhat shorter than the current fashion, did not impress. But when he raised his eyes, his power and authority were unquestionable. Kas felt as though those piercing, steel-gray eyes could see through his uniform and reveal the naked man beneath. He froze at a strict attention.

  Pankin regarded Kas silently for a moment, and then permitted himself a thin half-smile. “Well,” he said, “The infamous Captain Kas Preslin, pirate-buster and assaulter of admirals.” The half-smile faded. “Don’t worry Captain. You’re not in trouble. Yet.”

  The final word insured that Kas remained ramrod straight.

  Pankin’s smile widened became more genuine. “At ease, Captain. Have a seat. We have little time and much to discuss.” Kas paused uncertainly before moving to the chair the Grand Admiral had indicated. At Pankin’s barely perceptible nod he sat.

  Again Pankin regarded him silently for a moment as the smile faded and his face relaxed, became expressionless. “It seems your superiors didn’t like you much even before you attacked your admiral, Captain.”

  Kas was regaining his equilibrium. If Pankin was going to have him shot he doubted the grand admiral would invite him to sit and relax. Still he winced at Pankin’s comment. “No, sir.” Adding anything to his reply would be to court disaster. One does not criticize one’s seniors to the man most senior of all.

  Pankin’s stony expression relaxed. “In this room I insist that I and my visitors be candid,” Pankin said. “And to be candid, I wish I’d been able to witness your . . . ah . . . discussion with that imbecile Lu-Jenks. Outside this room you didn’t hear that, and I didn’t say it. If I hear otherwise, you’ll wish you’d never been born. Is that clear?”

  “Yes, Sir.” Kas waited.

  The grand admiral stared at him for a moment. “I would not recommend repeating your little escapade. I went to more than a little trouble to keep you out of a penal colony. Naturally, most of the flag officers in the Fleet wanted to hang, draw, and quarter you.” He grimaced, and continued, “Parade officers! They couldn’t lead a Bithra to water.”

  Astonishment curbed Kas’ tongue.

  “As I was saying,” Pankin continued, “your superiors never liked you much. Why do you think that is, Captain?”

  Kas suppressed a flash of resentment and curbed his tongue. “For one thing sir, I’m an outerworlder. It’s fashionable in the fleet to be from a good innerworld family. For another, well, I don’t always do things the way the book prescribes.”

  Pankin scowled. “You mean you’re a smartass who thinks he knows better than his superiors and likes to throw the book out the hatch.”

  “That’s not exactly how I’d put it, sir. It’s just that I tend to react to situations without consulting the book. Then later, I find out that I’m in trouble . . . again.”

  The scowl faded and Pankin chuckled. “A nice way of saying you like to use your imagination and to Sheol with the book!” He sobered. “I’m sorry, Captain. I’ve been teasing you a bit. I’m going to tell you some things, and maybe even give you some advice, then I’m going to give you what may be the most important mission of your career.”

  Kas straightened and leaned forward. A mission? Maybe a ship? His thoughts almost made him miss Pankin’s next words.

  “As I said Captain, inside this room I insist upon honesty. I estimate that within ten standard years we will be at war with someone.”

  Kas startled. “Who?”

  Pankin grimaced. “I don’t know yet. There are now nine governments in settled space. It could be one or more of the independent systems or that disgusting tyranny calling itself ‘the Mission for the Greater Glory of God’. I pray it won’t be the Alliance.”

  Kas shifted in his seat. “I have some very good friends in the Alliance Navy, sir.”

  Pankin nodded. “We all do, and I’ll come back to that in a few moments. First it is a fact that we’ll be fighting within ten years. You know, of course, that the empire is in decline, and will probably fall within two centuries.”

  Kas’ jaw dropped in shock. He stared, speechless as the commander in chief of the empire fleet calmly predicted the fall of the empire.

  Pankin smiled a bitter smile. “Come, Captain, don’t tell me you hadn’t reached the same conclusion. It’s even beginning to penetrate the thick skulls of some of our denser senators.”

  Kas frowned. He had long ago noticed the empire’s decline. He felt he was doing his part to slow the fall and the end of civilization by sticking with the fleet despite the harassment and his own growing cynicism. “Yes, sir,” he replied softly, “I just assumed that no one here on Prime realized it.”

  Pankin idly toyed with a stylus on the desk. “For the last century the emperors have struggled to both hold back the tide and plan for the inevitable. His Imperial Highness and I have been doing what we could to postpone the fall while we concealed the fact from the senate. The decline is now so pronounced even the stupid and venal are beginning to notice. When it becomes obvious they will demand at the top of their lungs that the Emperor do something. To them, that means doing something military.”

  He rose and began pacing. “I seriously doubt it will take ten years. At any rate, when it happens, we mustn’t lose. If we lose, the fall could be immediate and catastrophic. Right now, the strategic comps say that if we fought the Alliance we’d lose despite our Fleet being more than twice as large as theirs.” He stopped and turned to Kas. “We’re too rigid. The only technology we have that’s not obsolete is what we’ve bought from the Alliance. Worse, our officer corps is dominated by hidebound, parade ground officers.” He stopped and turned to Kas with a grim smile. “You don’t disagree, I trust?”

  Kas’ answering smile was slight but genuine. Commander in Chief or not, he was coming to like Pankin. “No, sir. I can’t disagree.” He sobered. “But since the empire sells commissions it’s inevitable. The fleet has become a dumping ground for the lazy and incompetents from wealthy families throughout the empire. It's also inevitable that those families would have the power and crowns to get them promotions and plum assignments.”

  Pankin slid back behind the desk, nodding in agreement. “Exactly. The Emperor and I have been working on policy changes. Next month his Imperial Highness will issue a proclamation officially ending the policy of selling commissions. It’s taken us a long time to make sure we could control the backlash. Now we have enough support to force it through the senate. More and more senior officers will also be finding retirement in their best interest.”

  He leaned forward on his elbows and his gaze became intense. “Several months ago I began reviewing the records of every officer in the fleet above the rank of Lieutenant. I’ve made two lists: a list of sycophants and political book officers that I’m encouraging to retire or resign. Those that won’t will find a career in the fleet no longer fits their lifestyle.

  “The other list is shorter; those officers I think are competent and effective.” He snickered. “They also tend to be the ones the parade ground admirals don’t like. Their fitness reports frequently mention things like ‘lack of respect’, or ‘lack of polish’” He flashed a sardonic grin. “Would you care to guess which list features your name?”

  Kas’s answered Pankin’s grin with his own. A fleet unhampered by the incompetents and sycophants that had controlled it for years. An opportunity for the fleet to become as expert as the Alliance navy. Wonderful! He squirmed excitedly in his chair.

  Pankin smiled and nodded at Kas’ obvious excitement. “I thought you’d approve. At any rate, over the next few months I’ll find reasons to call the officers from the second list in so I can meet
them. I want to confirm my analysis and form my own impressions. When the shoe drops the fleet must be led by competent, effective officers.” His smile faded. “We’ll need the best when the fighting starts.”

  Kas’ excitement disappeared. He leaned forward with a frown. “Are you sure about the fighting, sir?”

  Pankin nodded, his expression grim. “The only things we don't know are the timing and our opponents. I must admit I’d look forward to ganging up on that abomination calling itself the ‘Glory’”. His eyes narrowed with a predatory smile.

  Kas’s frown darkened. “I hate to think about war with the Alliance, sir. They know everything there is to know about our equipment, weapons and even our tactics. They also know which officers are competent. My Alliance friends are my friends but if fighting breaks out they’ll fight, and fight with everything they’ve got.”

  Pankin straightened and his hand smacked the desktop. “I hope one day soon they can say the same things about us. At the moment, the comps say they’d beat us hands down. That's why we must replace the incompetent officers. Besides preventing the waste of fleet lives, I want officers with the imagination and the initiative to improvise and to develop new tactics – tactics the Alliance knows nothing about.”

  Kas straightened attentively. “Yes, sir. We’ve got them outgunned. But they have a leadership edge as well as a technological edge that we’ll never match.”

  The Admiral slammed his hand on the desktop again, and sprang to his feet. “Damn it! You’re right, of course. Their star is rising, while ours is setting. That’s why I’m trying to divert the action to somewhere like the Glory where the Alliance can stay neutral or even ally with us.” He scowled and started pacing again. “Of course, chances are that even if we go to war against the Glory and win, those five systems will end up part of the Alliance. The old empire isn’t even dynamic enough to absorb five new systems. Or reabsorb five old ones.” He continued pacing for a moment, then seemed to realize he was doing it. He stopped, grunted, and returned to his desk.

  “Now," he said in a businesslike tone. "some advice. It will take time to get rid of the dead wood. Meanwhile, those officers still wield a lot of authority. I can’t apply too much pressure without damaging the chain of command and you’re going to need an intact command structure.

  “Almost every flag officer in the fleet will be gunning for you as a result of your little dustup with Lu-Jenks. Keep your head down and your mouth shut! Don’t provoke another court-martial because I may not be able to find a technicality I can use to bail you out.” Pankin smiled. “I will, however, make you a little harder to hit. Whether or not your career survives is up to you." His tone softened. "Take care, Captain. Don’t screw it up.

  "Now," he continued “to more immediate matters. Does the name Vir Rekesh mean anything?”

  “The man or the ship?”

  Pankin chuckled. “The ship.”

  Kas shrugged. “One of the great mysteries of the fleet. Stellar Class battle cruiser. She disappeared over a century ago. She . . . Sheol! Don’t tell me they’ve found her.”

  Pankin smiled again. “Exactly. She’s drifting unpowered in a rim system with her plague beacon running.”

  “Plague? Uh . . .”

  Another chuckle. “Relax Captain. It seems that one of the last survivors was her Third Lieutenant.” Pankin’s voice softened. “He was a remarkable young man. I wish I’d been able to meet him." Pankin straightened, and his voice resumed its businesslike tone "Anyway, he and the other last survivors went completely through the ship, wedging open doors and hatches. They shut down systems and fusactors, shutting down more and more systems as the crew died.”

  Pankin sighed deeply. “When only two crewmembers remained, the Third shut down the life support and even the ship’s Artificial Intelligence so it wouldn’t go insane in isolation. They suited up, and went around to all of the ship’s airlocks. The Third took the main lock himself. Then they opened the ship to space. The idea was to expose the entire ship to the hard vacuum and absolute zero of space in hopes of killing the plague bug.

  Kas shook his head in wonder. “A gutsy man! I hope he gets the hero treatment he deserves.”

  Pankin nodded. “The Emperor is plans to present an Empire Star after you being him back.”

  Kas startled and his eyes shone with excitement. “You want me to bring back the Rekesh?”

  “Exactly," the grand admiral replied. "But it’s not going to be as easy as it may appear. You’ll have competition.”

  “Competition?”

  Pankin frowned and started to rise, then caught himself and sat back down. “She was located by a tramp trader. Her captain investigated and went aboard as far as the lock. He found the Third’s body clutching a box of memory chips and ident disks. The captain grabbed it and retreated to his ship to play the log crystal. He was also well aware of the meaning of the ident discs.

  “Naturally the trader’s crew knew they were rich. The salvage value of a battle cruiser will make all of them fabulously wealthy even after they fight the claims commission. So, they forgot their original mission and boosted for Prime, celebrating all the way in. They hit the bars in every port town, bragging about their find.”

  Pankin leaned forward, his expression intense. “A lot of people listened. Judging by the sudden increase in military ship traffic, most of the independent systems and even our friends in the Glory are determined to find the Rekesh before we do.”

  Kas licked his lips. This mission was sounding more difficult every moment. “I can understand that. Anyone with a battle cruiser would become one of the big boys. Even the Alliance would be interested.”

  The stylus rolled as Pankin slammed the desktop again. “They are. The tramp’s crew was careful not to divulge the coordinates, and the captain claims that they took a roundabout return course to protect the secret. After all, if someone else got there first . . ." he shrugged and grimaced. "It’s just too bad they weren’t more discreet. That’s liable to cause you serious problems.”

  Kas shook his head and suppressed his own urge to pace. “So," he said in a tone tinged with irony, "I’ll be leading a caravan of military vessels from all over inhabited space, all hoping to beat me to the prize – or to take it away. With the Rekesh completely dead that may not be too hard, especially if a few of them gang up.”

  Pankin laughed aloud. “Sheol, Captain, if it were easy, any of our parade ground popinjays could do it!” His expression sobered. “I know what I’m asking, but we must get the Rekesh back. Or destroy her. If one of the Independent Systems gets her -- or the Glory -- it could destabilize known space and precipitate that war I was talking about. And we’re not ready.

  “I’ve done what I can. We can’t send you on another battle cruiser or any other military vessel for that matter. Sending a military vessel into someone else’s space is called invasion; and there’s no real chance anyone would give us permission. They want to get there first, remember?”

  Pankin rose and began pacing again. Kas suppressed a smile. He wondered how often they had to replace Pankin's carpet. He sobered as Pankin continued, “We have to get sneaky,” Pankin continued. “Now, that’s not something we’re particularly good at, but we have to try. We’ve refitted a DIN-class combat hauler for you. They've been around for centuries, and surplus hulls are common. She’s military surplus, not military, which means she’s not armed – officially.”

  He stopped, and his gaze was unreadable as it settled on Kas. “We have gone to some trouble to conceal weapons systems, but we had to be careful. If you're boarded and your weapons spotted, you’d be shot as pirates. Or identified as fleet, which would be worse.”

  Kas’s frown was back. “It takes over a hundred people to make a skeleton crew for a stellar class. It takes about four to run a DIN class. How can I explain that many people?”

  Pankin resumed pacing. “We’ve thought about that. You’re still going to have to use that famous imagination of yours. Starhopper
is being fitted with some three hundred fifty cold-sleep units. Your papers will indicate you’ve contracted to provide colonists for a colony being founded by Farterra. Fake, of course, so you’ll have to steer well clear of Farterra. The papers will show your cargo is the gutter-scrapings from half a dozen Empire worlds. Being an outerworlder will actually help. Your crew will be outerworlder as well.”

  Again he stopped and turned to Kas. “We can't do that with the crew for the Rekesh. Battle cruisers are glamorous assignments. Wealthy families buy billets for their playboy sons. I’ve done what I can. I had my chief of staff, Captain Froud; select volunteers with technical competence. Since Froud cannot be bribed, I think you’ll find them to be the best we have.”

  He frowned. “Technical expertise alone doesn’t guarantee a good officer or man. You’re getting a hand-picked crew, captain, but that doesn’t mean you won’t have some screw-ups, or snobbish popinjays.

  “That’s not all,” Pankin continued. “About fifty of those people won’t be fleet at all. They’re civilians, with skills you’ll need. A medical team, for instance. They’ll make sure the Rekesh is thoroughly decontaminated before you bring her home. You’ll also have techs recruited from shipyards that’ll bring her back to life. You’ll have an entire new AI core since shutting down an AI is no easy task. Rekesh’s Third probably destroyed hers. I've included experts in life support and propulsion to get you operational as quickly as possible.”