Deagth ship quest Read online

  Kas held his temper with an effort. “I’d like to discuss this with you further… after this meeting.”

  He resumed, explaining Starhopper ’s apparent condition and the details of the mission. “We’ll make a detour to avoid stopping in any of the Glory’s systems. We’ll know for sure after Tera, Bol and I begin plotting our course. But we’ll stop in systems belonging to the Alliance and probably several Independent systems. All of them will be on guard so we don't sneak a salvage crew out to the Rekesh.”

  The meeting broke up. Tera Fauss and Gran Telker were babbling excitedly to each other. Gran even gathered his courage and called Kas skipper, while blushing furiously. When no eruption was forthcoming, he visibly relaxed. Toj Kray and Edro Jans huddled wordlessly in their respective corners, ignoring overtures from the others. Bol Evers wanted to discuss lading details, but Kas put him off until later.

  Tera Fauss was waiting outside his cabin when Kas arrived with Bol Evers. He sent Bol up to the bridge while he dealt with the obviously agitated astrogator.

  He ushered Tera into his cabin. Her uniform was meticulously correct, with knife-edged creases. She was struggling to control her temper, red-faced, fidgeting, hands clenching and unclenching. He took his seat behind his small desk, and offered her a chair. She settled into it stiffly, obviously still fuming. “Want to tell me what you’re so angry about?” he asked.

  She jumped to her feet. “He told you!" she shrilled. "Captain Ter-Jacon sent you a message along with my record, so you’d have a bad opinion of me. I request an immediate transfer.”

  Kas shrugged. “No,” he said quietly. “Your former Captain did not tell me anything about you. What makes you think he did?”

  She looked suddenly confused. “He didn’t? I mean… I thought..” she took a deep breath. “I was so sure… All that about this mission not being regulation… Captain Ter-Jacon chewed me out.. ”

  Kas nodded. “I understand. And I was warned that you were perhaps overly concerned with the letter of regulations.” She began to cloud up again, and Kas hurriedly continued. “I don’t know if I can replace you at this late date, but if you insist, I’ll try. Understand this. This mission is important to you. You’ve already been passed over for Commander once. One more time, and you’re out. You’ll spend the rest of your career guiding civilian freighters on milk runs. This mission is your chance to overcome those unfavorable fitness reports, and to put you back on the path of a Fleet career. Since it’s such an oddball operation, you’ll have no choice but to conquer your urges.”

  She blushed but chewed at her lower lip in thought. “But sir,” she protested, “Regulations are important. They’re the rules we live by!”

  Kas frowned impatiently. Tera should have learned this long ago. “They’re important, but they’re not inviolable. They’re more like guidelines. They’re not intended to cover all situations. Junior officers are taught to obey them implicitly because they lack the experience to decide whether an exception is appropriate. If you want to advance to Commander, you need to know when it’s necessary to throw the rulebook out the window and improvise.”

  She reddened and opened her mouth to reply, but he held up a hand and continued, “This mission is a good one to teach you that lesson. It’s not traditional. It’s not even a traditional undercover intelligence mission. We’ll be making a lot of it up as we go.” He straightened. “Think about it. If you still want a transfer, let me know within eight standard hours. I’ll see what I can do.”

  She was gnawing at her lower lip again with a pensive expression, lost in thought as she allowed herself to be ushered from his quarters. Now for the tougher one.

  Kas called Bol to his cabin. “Would you care to explain your remarks?”

  Bol shrugged. “There’s nothing to explain. The mission is risky, so they’re sending Outies. The only way they’d send Innies would be if it were for a parade. Everybody knows Outies get all the tough jobs.”

  Kas expression turned grim. “Most of the three hundred fifty people in cold sleep will be Innerworlders. How would you like to climb into a cold sleep cabinet, knowing your survival depended upon six strangers getting you through hostile territory?”

  He’d been thinking ever since Bol’s outburst in the meeting. “You were assigned to be my exec for this trip. But I don’t think I can use you. Hatred and bigotry are weaknesses. We can’t afford them.”

  Bol jumped to his feet. “You’re calling me a bigot? They’re the bigots, constantly harassing and demeaning Outies. I thought for sure that you’d understand, but I guess you got that star by bootlicking and kowtowing to the damned Innies.” He was braced for a blast from Kas, but he was totally unprepared when Kas’ burst into laughter.

  When he could compose himself, Kas shook his head. “Sorry. I was just thinking of all the negative fitness reports I’ve received.” He was overtaken by another fit of laughter, but after a moment, he forced himself to an icy calmness. “Bigots come in all flavors. I’m surprised you're still in the fleet, and a commander. You’ve never been stationed in an inner system, have you?”

  “At any rate,” he continued, “I can’t use you, and I don’t want you. Get your gear together and report to the bachelor officer quarters on the base. You will remain there on quarters restriction until you receive further orders. You know too much about this operation to be just turned loose.”

  Bol flushed, and his hands clenched. “Well, screw you, Commodore! I’m glad I’m not going. If the rest of the crew is bootlicking Innie lovers like you, I don’t belong with them. Someday, we’ll show these Innies — and the traitorous Outie kiss-ups like you!” He jumped to his feet, fists clenched at his sides.

  Kas also rose, clamping down on his surging anger. He slowly unclenched his own fists. “You have your orders, Commander," he said in a dangerous tone. "Get off my ship!”

  “That might have been a mistake, Commodore,” said the image of Captain Froud a few minutes later, “It wasn’t easy to find an outerworld officer with both warship and freighter experience senior enough to be your exec. I’m not sure we can find another.”

  "Then get me an innerworlder," Kas snapped. He took a deep breath, let it out with gusty sigh. "I'm sorry, Captain. I'm still a bit angry But I won’t subject my crew to months of his hate-filled diatribes. I wouldn’t put it past him to sabotage the cold sleep units — he’s that bigoted.” He paused. “You know, using an innerworlder might not be a bad idea, if he’s not from a good family. There are a lot of innerworlders serving aboard traders. As long as he doesn’t have upper class mannerisms, an innerworlder could be an advantage.”

  Captain Froud raised a skeptical eyebrow. “If you say so, Commodore. The fleet admiral ordered that you be given a free hand. Let’s see. You want us to find an innerworlder with both freighter and warship experience, senior enough to be your exec, but one who hasn’t acquired any polish along the way. That will be a tall order.”

  Kas chuckled. “To paraphrase something the fleet admiral said to me, ‘If it was easy, anyone could do it.’”

  Captain Froud struggled to maintain a straight face. “I’ll see what I can do.”

  Kas thanked him and started to sign off, then hesitated. “I’d appreciate it if you could keep Evers isolated until we get back, or you get reports that we’ve failed. He’s a hater, and he knows too much. He knows the name of the ship, her captain, and the entire plan. I wouldn’t put it past him to sell or give the information to the Glory or one of the independents just for spite.”

  The captain nodded. “I can take care of that. He’ll remain under quarters arrest in the BOQ, with a tap on his vid. Don’t worry. We’ll take no chances."

  Captain Froud was right. It wouldn’t be easy to find an innerworld exec with no polish. But this mission was hazardous enough without saddling himself with an XO unable to maintain objectivity. That trait bespoke a lack of discipline that Kas couldn’t tolerate. Then he thought about Admiral Lu-Jenks, and the crunch of the admiral's
jaw when he hit him. Talk about lack of discipline…

  Kas had watched the others during Evers’ bigoted comments during the meeting. All had looked uncomfortable, and none had made comments supporting his position. Tera Fauss had flushed with embarrassment. All of them had been victims of innerworlders’ discrimination but they hadn’t turned to hate. Judging by the records they compensated by trying to be better at their jobs. He was sure that none of them were as bigoted as the Arcadian.

  Meanwhile, the officers destined to operate the Vir Rekesh began arriving. When all twenty-two had gotten settled in the BOQ, Kas called a meeting to explain the plan and their roles.

  He watched carefully as they filed into the large conference room. He recognized only a few of them, but watched as heads bobbed and a buzz rose as he was identified to all. Some glanced at him with frank hostility, and several of them looked disturbed. But now was the time to raise neither the issue of Lu-Jenks nor of his Outie heritage. He’d be able to deal with it aboard the Rekesh, assuming they made it that far.

  He was relieved to note that none of the officers forming his command staff aboard Rekesh seemed unduly bothered by his identity when he introduced himself. He was sure they’d be able to control their hotheads. And if not, well, a battle cruiser had a good-sized brig.

  Many more of them looked disturbed at the news that they’d spend the trip out in cold sleep.

  His words to Evers had been the bald truth. Kas wasn’t at all sure that he’d be willing to lie defenseless and unknowing while Starhopper might be fighting for their lives. No, they could scarcely be faulted for being worried. Any that climbed into cold sleep unit could hardly be called a coward.

  “The records of the crewmen who’ve volunteered will be available on your terminals at the BOQ,” he concluded. “Review them carefully. If there appear to be problems, please bring them up now. Once we lift, we’re stuck with the people aboard, and the personnel files will no longer be available. We can’t afford to have them on the ship, in case we’re searched. We will have little aboard to link us to the Empire, and nothing to link us to the Fleet.”

  A hand went up. “How long will we have, sir?”

  Kas shrugged. “I can’t say exactly. We’ll lift as soon as the last of the crew and civilians arrive. Don’t anticipate any opportunity to talk to them until you’re awakened. As they arrive, they’ll be briefed, and then shuttled directly into a cold sleep unit. The shipyard simply doesn’t have accommodations for them.”

  Another hand went up. A senior commander this time. “What about these civilians, sir? Are they really necessary?” He was frowning.

  Kas grinned. “I’ll tell you what fleet Admiral Pankin told me. We have no choice. The Rekesh has been powered down for more than a century. Even her AI was shut down. Besides that, she’s a plague ship. Do you really want to man her without a medical decontam? Or perhaps have to fight her without a functional AI and with cold fusactors?”

  The Commander smiled grimly. “No, sir. Do you really expect to have to fight her, Commodore?”

  Kas’ grin faded. “I hope not. Even if we get her fully operational, her fighting crew strength is over three thousand. We’ll have less than three hundred, plus a bunch of scared civilians, and we’ll be a long way from home. The Alliance, the Glory and every independent system between here and there will want to take her from us.”

  “Hah! The Empire wouldn’t stand for any such nonsense!” The voice was anonymous, but Kas decided to answer.

  “The Rekesh is located near the edge of known space. To get back, we’ll have to pass through space claimed by the Alliance and half a dozen independents. I’ve tried to chart a course that’ll avoid the Glory, but that doesn’t mean they won’t be trying for us, too. The Empire has no grounds for protest if we simply disappear, and say, the Glory suddenly announces that they now possess a battle cruiser. Since we’ll be violating interstellar law by sending armed military personnel into nominally friendly governments’ space, our ambassadors wouldn’t even be able to ask about us — at least, not officially.”

  Silence descended while the officers digested this last information, then a loud murmur arose as the officers considered the implications of Kas' statements. Many of them had been involved in border skirmishes and pirate interdiction combat, but a running fight through others' space in an undermanned ship was a new dimension. The Round Trip Ticket was a Fleet tradition so old it was said to predate star flight itself. Every member of the Fleet, officer or enlisted, learned during their basic training that everyone who joins the Fleet buys a round trip ticket. It was an article of faith that they, or their remains, would be returned to their home planet, regardless of the circumstances. The fleet went to amazing lengths to bring back Fleet personnel or their bodies. This time, if the fleet couldn’t even ask for the personnel or their bodies…

  Kas allowed the discussions to go on for a few minutes before recalling the officers to order. He scanned the faces. There was excitement in a satisfyingly large percentage, but he also saw doubt and worry in more than a few. “This mission has to succeed,” Kas continued. “You’re all fleet officers. You’re well aware of what could happen if the Glory or one of the independents suddenly possessed a fully functional stellar class battle cruiser. It could destabilize all of known space. And the Rekesh was only twelve years old when she disappeared, practically a new ship. Imagine yourself on a destroyer sent on one of these interminable border skirmishes we’ve been fighting for the last fifty years. Suddenly the Rekesh shows up on the other side — perhaps manned by swords from the Glory.”

  A shudder ran through nearly half the officers. Many of them had faced the fanatical ferocity of the Glory’s Missionaries and Swords of the Lord. Few were ever taken prisoner, and those that were taken with serious wounds would usually attempt suicide as soon as they were able. If they were unable to suicide, most fell into a pathetic apathy, not even responding when offered return to the Glory. Accordingly, the Glory took few prisoners. It was thought that the only fleet personnel taken prisoner were those considered to have been cowardly or otherwise dishonorable.

  "We cannot fail," Kas continued. “That’s an empire ship out there. We can’t let it be the cause of interstellar war.”

  “Now,” he resumed, “You should have a few days before the first of the enlisted crewmen come aboard. Use it wisely. Fleet Admiral Pankin has given me unusually wide latitude on this mission; if you feel any of your personnel should be replaced, let me know. If we act fast enough, we may be able to replace them.”

  By design, the senior petty officers were the first of the enlisted crewmen to arrive. They were assigned quarters, and briefed. Kas was pleased with them. Most were grizzled, no-nonsense veterans. These were the men that would anchor the crew, would provide the stability that would give the men the confidence to climb into those cold-sleep cabinets.

  As the rest of the crew arrived, they were hurriedly briefed, given plain shipsuits and their luggage searched for anything that might identify the owner as fleet. That completed, they were marched to the ship, where they surrendered their ident disks before entering the cold sleep cabinets.

  The closest thing to trouble that they had involved surrendering their disks. A loud murmur and dozens of hands went up when the men were told because the disks were closely identified with faith in the round trip ticket. A grizzled petty officer stood. “I served with you on the Revenge, Capt… uh… Commodore. Will you, personally, guarantee we’ll be getting our disks back when we wake up? I’ll take your word, sir.”

  “This is an undercover operation,” Kas replied. “If we’re searched, they may insist on waking a few of you for questioning. That’s why it was important that you be briefed on the cover story. You’re street scrapings recruited from the jails and slums of a dozen Empire worlds.

  “Now, I’m sure that most of you can carry off that story — but not if you’re wearing a Fleet ident disk. Yes, I’ll give you my personal word that your ident disk wil
l be returned. Believe me; I’m no happier than you about taking mine off. We’re sure to be searched at least once. So mine will be hidden with yours.”

  Once again, Kas was impressed with the caliber of fleet personnel. Only half a dozen refused to enter the cold sleep cabinets, and were hurriedly replaced with other volunteers.

  Kas was getting nervous. The last of the volunteers were being shunted into the cold sleep cabinets, liftoff was fast approaching. Kas still had no replacement for Bol Evers.

  Provisioning was nearly complete and liftoff only twenty hours away when Kas was summoned to Starhopper ’s personnel lock. A youngish man lounged there, in the ill-fitting uniform of a Lieutenant Commander. As Kas approached, he straightened, and awarded Kas a sloppy salute. “You’d be Commodore Preslin, I’m thinkin’,” he drawled. “I’m Rom Reffel. Cap’n Froud sent me over.” He proffered an official envelope.

  Kas looked him up and down, clamping down on his surging anger at the man’s casual manner. Rom was short, and powerfully built. His uniform was wrinkled and creased, as though just pulled from a suitcase. But it was clean and in good repair. He was clean shaven, and his hair neat and clean. Finally, Kas took the envelope. The note inside was handwritten, and signed “Froud.” “Commodore,” it began:

  This will introduce Lieutenant Commander Rom Reffel, Empire Fleet Reserve. With you lifting soon, I thought it unwise to send his entire service record, but to summarize: Reffel was on active duty for some fifteen years, culminating in an assignment as Executive Officer of Ranger, a Destroyer. He resigned, and for the past five years has served as purser on an independent trader. He is familiar with rim space and a number of the independents. He is also unmilitary and insubordinate; but he’s the best we’re likely to get. His commission has been reactivated for this mission. Good luck.

  Kas crumpled the note and again regarded the man. His anger was cooling, and he barked a laugh at himself. He was getting angry because a man who was supposed to pose as a civilian was acting unmilitary. “Come along, Rom,” he growled, and led him aboard.