Deep
Space Squadron
Chapter
1
Disc
Lukas
Altmeyer pressed himself up against the chill steel of the bulkhead. His eyes
stared, large and round, with fear; his skin crawled with cold flushes; his
stomach was knotted into a tight ball.
They
were going to kill him.
He
could barely breathe, his bladder felt as if it was about to empty.
He
had no idea why they wanted to kill him.
A
moan of terror slipped past his lips un-noticed.
The
Captain had condemned him to death at a hearing in the Officer’s wardroom. There
were only three officers in attendance, including the Captain.
Then,
two crewmen had dragged him, paralysed and weak with dread, to the storage bin
where he had been stripped of everything including his dignity.
He
wanted to know what he had done.
His
mind turned to the ‘how’. He tried to avoid it but it kept coming into his head.
How would they kill him? Would they throw him out of an airlock? He had heard
terrible, terrible stories of what happened to men that had stepped into space.
How some had been kicking and trying to scream for a long time, how some had
burst open from inside, how they had all worn a common expression of sheer
agony.
His
bladder emptied.
He
didn’t want to die. He was young. There was so much life ahead of him.
“I
am innocent,” he whimpered, pressing himself harder into the wall.
Perhaps
they have forgotten me. Perhaps it is a joke. They are having fun with the new
boy.
He
couldn’t believe he was really going to die but the fear was no less real.
The
Captain’s face was impassive when he had declared sentence.
“Karel
Steyr, I am sentencing you to death for your crimes against this crew. Sentence
will be carried out immediately. Take him away.”
Perhaps
that was it. He had boarded under a false name, they had found out. Surely they
would not kill him for that.
‘Why
am I to die?’ he repeatedly asked himself, his mind wandering.
His
bowel emptied.
“Do
you have the figures precisely now, Johnson?”
“Yes,
Sir. By offloading Steyr we will save exactly eighty five kilogrammes. This will
give us a point oh two per cent fuel bonus on the next leg.”
“Are
the rest of the crew aware of what is happening?”
“They
are aware that Chef’s assistant Steyr is to be executed for trying to poison
the ship’s officers for reasons known only to himself. They have been told that
he will not talk.”
The
Captain appeared disinterested in the well being of a menial, “We are slowing
for rendezvous now?”
“Yes,
Sir. We are now down to about a quarter lightspeed. Rendezvous is in seventy
five hours.”
“The
cargo is ready to transfer?”
“It
is. We have armed a few of the men to make sure that the transfer goes smoothly,”
Johnson consulted his pad and nodded.
“I
want all scanners on maximum range. There is little chance of anything being
this far off the normal shipping routes but we cannot be too careful.”
“Our
information is that all the patrol ships are engaged elsewhere; I believe
someone has given them an indication that all is not well near Rivette—nearly
one hundred light years away.”
“How
sad. Let’s put junior out of his misery.”
Two
men opened the door to the small storage room that Altmeyer was bundled into. One
of them wrinkled up his nose at the smell but reached in and grasped the
prisoner by the neck and dragged him out.
“I
am innocent! I don’t want to die!” Altmeyer screamed hoarsely at them. He was
too frightened to struggle; he stared around him looking for help but none
came.
He
felt a small prick in his neck and everything slowly became confused, his limbs
were not responding to his brain’s commands—not that his brain was doing very
much.
Altmeyer
was vaguely aware that someone was throwing some clothes into a small hatch.
“Your
stuff, Altmeyer. We don’t want it,” he looked around at his mate, “You may want
something warm when you get outside,” the handlers laughed.
The
fear welled up afresh in Altmeyer’s body, paralysing him even more than the
drug.
“Enough,
Rogers,” a sharp female voice cut in.
Altmeyer
managed to half focus and recognised the Ship’s Chaplain, Dalai Khoo Shiang Kit.
A small hope began to well up in his chest.
She
was looking sternly at Rogers, the general handyman who always seemed to
Altmeyer to be more like an ape than a human person.
They
began to drag him towards the small hatch. He knew he was screaming but
couldn’t stop himself.
Rogers
smacked him around the back of the head and cursed him for relieving himself on
the floor.
“Somebody—me,
will have to clean up that frickin’ mess after you’ve gone, you bastard!”
“Rogers!
Enough!” Dalai Khoo was incensed.
She
came and put her hand on Altmeyer’s neck and whispered soft words into his ear.
He
looked at her with staring eyes, not comprehending what she was saying, only
full of terror at what was about to happen. He didn’t want to be ejected into
space, he wanted to live.
Altmeyer
shook with fear. He offered no resistance as they fed him into the tube through
the hatch.
The
cover went on and formed a perfect seal, smooth inside. Altmeyer was in a tube
seventy centimetres in diameter. Not enough room for him to bend his knees. He
could feel a solid wall at his head and nothing under his feet. Was he going
out head or feet first? He knew it didn’t matter. Now his death was almost upon
him he was thinking irrelevant thoughts. His brain leapt wildly from one spark
of thought to another.
Even
though he was still in a state of disbelief he prayed that it would be quick,
he feared the pain more than anything else.
Altmeyer
was begging in sobs when he felt his feet being pushed up. The block at his
head wasn’t moving. His knees were bent as much as they could be but his feet
were being pushed relentlessly towards his head.
He
heard the crack as the bones in his legs gave way and then the pain flooded up.
His feet were now pushed into his thighs. Jagged ends of bone pierced his
thighs and ripped up into the hips that shattered just before the thighbones
crushed his ribs.
The
moving piston displaced his spine and sent shattered pieces of bone slicing
into his diaphragm and heart.
He
tried to scream but the pain was too intense. In his head he begged for it to
stop. He pleaded, he sobbed, he repeated his innocence; the pressure on his
head was unbearable. Two and a half tonnes per square inch of hydraulic
pressure squeezed remorselessly onwards until Altmeyer’s head burst in on
itself. Had he been alive he would have been relieved at the cool cessation of
pain.
“Is
that the fastest that thing will go?” Dalai Khoo asked.
“It’s
set for one speed. All rubbish is compacted at the same rate. Of course, if
there’s something that puts up resistance it will be slower but otherwise it
compacts at one and a half seconds for a full stroke. A human body offers no
resistance,” Captain Pederson had spoken over Khoo's left shoulder.
Dalai
Khoo felt sick, “You sound as if you have done this before.”
“It
is a standard sentence for miscreants of this nature.”
“What
nature? The crime has never been made clear. I still feel that we should have
locked him up and taken him back for a proper trial.”
“I
am the Captain, I am the law on this ship.”
The
Captain turned away from her and spoke to Rogers, “Eject the waste, Rogers.”
“Aye,
Sir,” Rogers reached over to the control panel and checked all lights were in
the green and pressed ‘Eject’.
“Waste?”
Dalai Khoo was astounded, “Waste? He was a human person. Have some respect even
if he was a criminal,” she emphasised the ‘if’.
Captain
Pederson glanced at her, frowning.
There
was no sound in the ship to indicate that Altmeyer was now drifting slowly away
from the ship as a freeze-dried seventy-centimetre disc approximately
ten-centimetres thick. Only the panel lights indicated that the waste had now
left the ship and that the compactor tube could now be closed and reset ready
for the next operation.
“We
have wasted enough time on this matter. He’s gone and that’s it done. We shall
save fuel on the next leg especially once we have completed the transfer of the
cargo,” Captain Pederson spoke quietly to Johnson.
“One
hundred and twenty tonnes of prime Earth cocaine should keep them happy enough
out on the mining colonies.”
“The
money will keep me very happy, Johnson.”
“What
about the Chaplain, Sir. She could be a problem.”
“She
is very light and most of the crew like her. We shall replace her with someone
at the next port if we can find a ‘God-Botherer’ who is lighter than her,” he
sneered, “These types are no problem; half their head is in their paradise
already.”
“What
the hell is that noise?” Lieutenant Commander Givens called out—surprised at
the sudden screeching.
“Inertial
buffers on overload, Sir. We have come to a dead stop.”
“We
were at point six C!”
“Yes,
Sir. That’s why the buffers were objecting, Sir. The ship threw everything into
that stop, Sir.”
“Next
question, then. Why?” Lt. Commander Givens was still shocked.
“Object
dead ahead, Sir.”
“Here?
Where are we?”
Lieutenant
Shore at the navigational computer looked around at the Captain, “We are well
off all shipping lanes. The idea was to take a short cut across to Rivette to
investigate yet another possible disturbance among the miners. We were just
winding up to second fold when the ship took over and brought us to a halt. To
answer your question, Sir. We are in the middle of nowhere, really,” he turned
back to his console.
“Thank
you No.1. Chief Rivas: Send to Command Centre that we have stopped in the
middle of nowhere for reasons currently unknown and see what they say. Or. Ask
Nav for a better fix on our location and then find out from the scanners what
the object is that is dead ahead. Then send to CommCen.”
Rivas
smiled happily at Lieutenant Shore who pointed at his screen.
“We
are there, Chief Petty Officer Rivas. Copy those numbers down and relay them as
ordered.”
Rivas’
grin became wider, “Yes, Sir. Can do.”
Chief
Delavoisin on the scanner spoke quietly, “She is a ship, Sir. I am getting none
of it the indication of power. She is also moving ver’ slowly. She makes,
per’aps, a ‘undred kilometres per second.”
“Bring
us about and align us on the target, Helm,” the Captain turned to his
communication panel, “Regulators to stand-by. We have a ship dead in the water.
Two men to enter for check.”
He
sat back, “Have you informed CommCen, ‘Phones?”
“Aye,
Sir. I have.”
“Spray
that ship with quizzes.”
Chief
Rivas chuckled, “Aye, Sir.”
There
had been no reply to the hails. Chief Delavoisin’s conjecture that it was
completely lifeless was becoming more of a reality as the distance between the
two ships reduced.
Lieutenant
Commander Givens brought the small patrol ship ‘Nimrod’ around to a parallel
course with the other ship now identified as a Class Four freighter. Helm edged
it in to within 50 metres. Now the search team could rope across and enter
making the process much safer than using mini-jets.
The
freighter dwarfed the patrol ship. By the time they had ‘Nimrod’ almost nudging
the great ship it looked mountainous.
“Search
Team. This is your Captain speaking. On a Class Four the crew accommodation is
all for’d. The aft section is entirely freight. Modern freighters have the
accommodation aft with the cargo for’d. Focus on the crew first and then we
will look at the cargo holds.”
“Aye,
Sir,” came over the bridge speakers.
They
all waited as the search team crossed over.
Just
short of two hours later the bridge speakers buzzed.
“Nimrod?”
“Captain
here. Go ahead.”
“There’s
no air, Sir. The crew compartment has all vented.”
“Each
bulkhead has an auto-lock to prevent every compartment from losing air,” Givens
told them.
“Maybe,
Sir. But there’s a bloody great slot, if you’ll excuse the expression, Sir. It
goes from the Bridge all the way back to the rear bulkhead. The starboard
navigation panel has been smashed and it took the top half of the navigator
with it. The rest of the crew are just standing around looking shocked.”
“Bridge
camera intact?”
“Aye,
Sir. Rose is disconnecting it now.”
“Can
you identify what it was that went through the hull?”
“Not
yet, Sir. We are running low on breathable air so we shall come back over for
more tanks before we continue.”
Several
hours later the inspection was completed. The two regulators had brought a
freeze-dried disc aboard. They had also brought a manifest showing that
everything on board was innocent cargo consisting mostly of mining gear and low
grade explosives for blasting asteroids apart.
“There’s
a couple of large blocks of something wrapped in hemp sacking near Cargo Door
‘G’, Sir. Nothing on the manifest about them.”
“No
identification?”
“No,
Sir. None. But all the cargo bays are intact and still have the best part of
one atmosphere. Breathable.”
“The
‘Fours’ have a capability to convert quickly to passenger ships—they are called
‘QC’s’ for ‘Quick Change’. Are there any passengers there?”
“None,
Sir. No sign of anybody living in the bays, either.”
“Is
anyone checking the bales? Someone must have accounted for them on the fuel
states and fold calculations.”
“Lundgren
and Trefor are over there now, Sir.”
“Thank
you. Go and get a mug of cocoa while I speak to the other two.”
“Aye,
Sir.”
Lieutenant
Commander Givens had a habit of allowing the lads a ‘mug of cocoa’ after they
had been on a difficult mission. It was a euphemism for a drop of rum and much
appreciated by all.
“Lundgren.
Trefor. Speak to me. Lieutenant Commander Givens here.”
“”We’ve
stripped a bit of the wrapping away, Sir. It seems to be a white powder.”
“What
have you done with it?”
“Nothing,
Sir. We have only just opened it.”
“Take
a very small coating on your finger and put it on the tip of your tongue.”
“Sir?”
“I
suspect that it is cocaine.”
“My
tongue is numb.”
“Quite.
Seal it up and come back.”
“Aye,
Sir.”
Lieutenant
Commander Given looked down at Chief Rivas, “It seems that CommCen’s suggestion
was right. This ship is the ‘Stirling Castle’ under the command of the late
Captain Pederson. He has been investigated several times for drug running but
nothing concrete ever turned up. Clearly, he was meeting someone out here to
transfer the contraband.”
“Sir.
Leading Seaman Phillips, Sir.”
“Yes,
Phillips. What do you have for me?”
“The
disc that Errol and Rose brought back is organic. That is why their sensors
didn’t recognise it. Their sensors were set for metals, minerals and ice—not
organics. This was a human.”
“Ye
Gods, Phillips. How did he become a missile?”
“He
is the same size as a garbage compactor, Sir. We think he was put in it,
compressed and ejected.”
“Do
we know what he died of, Phillips?”
“Doc
thinks he died of being compressed, Sir.”
Givens
sat down heavily, “Shit! What had he done to deserve that?”
“Ship’s
log says he was sentenced to death for attempting to poison the ship’s
officers, Sir. No mention of how this was to be accomplished or with what
poison, Sir. Seems he was a Chef’s Assistant named... er...” Phillips consulted
a notepad pulled from his top pocket
“Karel Steyr, Sir. That was some months ago. It looks as if they
returned to the same spot for a rendezvous and met up with their old shipmate
again.”
“Why
do you think they were on a rendezvous, Phillips?”
“Doc
and I both reckon that the disc, Steyr, would have gone straight through the
lot—cargo, engines and all, if they’d have been travelling at normal
‘tween-fold speed. They must have slowed right down. You only do that if you’re
going to meet up with another ship. This is nowhere. We are a long way off
normal shipping lanes. How would they account for the fuel to come out here?”
A
light went on in Given’s head. “They would kill a crew member, Phillips. They
would kill him and then dump him overboard.”
“How
would they account for the missing crew member, Sir?”
“It’s
my guess they would charge him with some criminal activity or, if he were
really new on board, just dump him and wipe his name off everything so that he
never existed. At worst they could say he jumped ship somewhere.”
“That’s
inhuman, Sir.”
“These
people are dealing in drugs. They don’t care about people—only money. Nothing
else matters. Nothing.”
Phillips
put his hand to his ear, “Doc is buzzing me, Sir. He’s had the DNA numbers from
Karel Steyr sent to CommCen Medical Laboratory for confirmation and they are
saying that it isn’t him.”
“Now
we are going to have to check all the bodies on board. Let’s get busy, Phillips.
We’ll need a sample from all of them.”
“Aye,
Sir. I’ll go over right now.”
Lieutenant
Commander Givens walked over to where Chief Rivas was studying him and Phillips,
“Chief. I want you to call CommCen to confirm this information about Steyr.”
Rivas
turned to her console and started messaging.
Ten
minutes later she looked up at the Lieutenant Commander. “CommCen confirm that
the DNA does not belong to Steyr. A person called Karl Steyr was murdered on
Treppis a year ago. Nobody has been caught for it. Oh, and they’re sending a
frigate. It’s an Amazon Class ship called ‘Alacrity’. In case we need back-up.”
“Quick,
is it, ‘Phones?”
“Pardon,
Sir?”
“Never
mind,” Givens smiled and turned to the scanners, “Nothing inbound?”
“Expecting
company are we, Sir”
“There’s
a fortune in drugs on that freighter. It belongs to someone who wants them
badly. They are not about to let a silly little thing like us get in the way.”
Those
were prophetic words from Lieutenant Commander Givens. The drugs had been
transferred into the patrol ship and the last samples taken from the crew when
the look out on the scanners reported an inbound ship.
“How
long to fire up the engines and get us out?” Lieutenant Commander Givens spoke
into his communication panel.
“About
thirty seconds to start up the main drives and another ten seconds to take them
up to full thrust.” Lieutenant Campbell’s voice came back to him.
Givens
looked at the look out who shook his head, “They have their forward tubes
aligned on us, Sir. They could get a couple of rounds off before we were out of
harms way.”
“They’re
hot?”
“Aye,
Sir. Four tubes loaded and locked on to us.”
“What
sort of ship are we looking at?” Givens was puzzled. Civilian ships are not
usually armed with torpedo tubes.
“Not
certain right now, Sir. First guess is it’s an old cruiser. I need to see more
of it to be sure.”
Lieutenant
Commander Givens spoke to Lieutenant Campbell, “Prime the engines ready. You
never know when an opportunity might arise to put some distance between us and
them.”
“Them?”
“Drug
runners inbound in an old cruiser, according to look out.”
“Consider
the main drives primed and hot to trot, Sir.”
“They
are very close for a shot at us, Sir. They are standing off at ten kilometres.”
Look out reported.
“Hmm.
They could get a lot of ricochet and shrapnel damage from their own shot. Perhaps
they are not so well trained as us, then.” Givens seemed relaxed
“Small
Naval ship ahead. Identify yourself.”
“This
is the Patrol Ship ‘Nimrod’, Lieutenant Commander Givens speaking. You are?”
“We
are ready to blow you into small fragments. Prepare to be boarded, we are
taking over your ship.”
Lieutenant
Commander Givens spoke to his weapons master, “What is the traverse rate of
their pivot guns amidships?”
“Slow,
Sir. They are very heavy. That’s if they have them fitted. Usually these ships
go for scrap or sale without the guns. They are for sale converted into
passenger ships or small cargo vessels. They must have reconfigured their tubes
and got hold of some torpedoes.”
“Look
out here, Sir. I have no indication of any turret cannons or pivot guns. Not
loaded, anyway,” he paused and then continued, “Two pinnaces have launched. One
is heading for us the other is going to the freighter.”
“Maximum
crew on the pinnace will be six. Two will stay on board so that leaves four for
a boarding party. Regulators to stand-by, please.”
Givens
looked around, “Clear the bridge, if you will. Chief Rivas and look out, stay. Everyone
else go hide with a weapon. Guns?”
“Sir?”
“Get
a ten megajoule pulse weapon and lurk somewhere nearby.”
“I
have a two in my locker, Sir. Why a ten?”
“Because
they don’t make an eleven, Guns. Go find one.”
“Sir,”
he grinned happily and left rapidly. The big bore pulse weapons were rarely
broken out so the chance to use one was a big bonus for Sub-Lieutenant Doyle
who, it was said, thoroughly enjoyed his days on the range at New Boston.
Lieutenant
Sullivan, acting No.2, stood by to meet the visitors at the lock. He heard the
scrape as the ships came together and then a brief hiss as the air pressures
stabilised between the two ships and the airlock.
He
looked down at his feet as the deck beneath them buzzed with a familiar
vibration and then the alarms went off and all the lights on the airlock
control panel went red.
Sullivan
punched the comms button. “Bridge? What is happening?”
“To
the bridge. Now,” Givens was very sharp.
Givens
looked at Sullivan as he appeared, breathless, on the bridge. “More time in the
gym, perhaps, No.2?”
Sullivan
glanced at the screens and saw the freighter slipping away down their starboard
side.
“They
haven’t opened fire on us?” Sullivan asked.
“No.
They did, in fact, fire a torpedo but it hit the freighter. Quite a bit of
mining equipment will have been lost or damaged, one supposes.”
“Why
didn’t they hit us? We were right in their sights?”
“Ah,
well. If you look at the other screen you will see ‘Alacrity’ bearing down on
them. Currently at around twenty five thousand kilometres distant. They came
out of foldspace and fired a couple of rounds immediately catching our friends
on the port engine blocks. This caused the cruiser to yaw off by a couple of
degrees so we started the engines and pulled away. Look out assured us that the
torpedo would miss us by a hundred metres astern and so it proved. Exciting? No?”
“Why
did ‘Alacrity’ fire straight away? They couldn’t possibly have assessed the
situation so quickly.”
“Chief
Rivas sent a tight beam burst transmission. She believes that the drug runners
would not have the equipment, or skill, to pick it up and decode it in time. ‘Alacrity’,
on the other hand, does.”
“The
men in the pinnace were just about to board.”
“Yes.
We will go back for their bodies shortly, no doubt. It seems they were ill
prepared for extra-vehicular activity; they were more concerned with carrying
lots of guns. The pinnace has returned to the cruiser at quite a respectable
turn of speed, too,” Givens grinned broadly.
“You
are enjoying this, aren’t you, Sir?” Chief Rivas looked up at him. She was
still frightened and, now the adrenalin was running out of her system, it was
beginning to show.
“We
either win or die. There is no middle road. Incoming fire is never friendly and
you cannot negotiate with it. We prepared for the worst and hoped for the best.
‘Alacrity’ came at the right moment—for us. Otherwise we should have needed
another plan.”
“Did
you have another plan, Sir?” Rivas still looked pale.
“Yes,
Chief.”
“Would
it have worked?”
Lieutenant
Commander Givens laughed and shrugged, “Of course it would, Chief. Of course it
would,” he turned to Look Out, “How many life signs on the cruiser?”
“Eighty
seven, Sir. That’s what we have at present.”
“Only?
On such a ship? The call of profit is very loud, it seems.”
Commander
Adebayo extended his hand to Lieutenant Commander Givens. “Well done. Sharply
done, that. Saw the engines fire up immediately. Good. Very good,” he indicated
the seat on the bridge next to his, “Sit here with me. We are about to speak to
them.”
Givens
could hear the disdain in the Commander’s voice with the slight emphasis on the
‘them’.
He
continued, “We left them to stew for a few hours while we cleaned up the mess.”
“They
have some damage from their strike on the freighter.” Givens told him.
“Indeed.
They have lost four men from the pinnace that came to your ship and six men
they destroyed themselves. They have also lost eight persons, sex unknown, on
their ship from fragmentation damage.”
“So
there are seventy nine left on board, Sir.”
“As
you say. We just have room for seventy prisoners. How many could you cram on
board?”
“Maybe
the rest. Cramped, they would certainly be.”
“Pah!
I have no regard for their personal comfort. I will stack them up in an empty
fuel tank if I must.”
Commander
Adebayo nodded to his communications Chief.
“Unidentified
civilian cruiser. This is the Naval Vessel ‘Alacrity’, Commander Adebayo
speaking. Stand down all weapons and prepare to send your people across as
prisoners.”
“How
will we do that? We have only one pinnace. Five at a time will take hours.”
“Sixteen
trips. You had better get started. The pinnace will stand off at two hundred
metres distant and the prisoners will cross to us by rope.”
“Impossible.
We have insufficient suits for eighty people.” The voice from the old cruiser
rasped in an unfamiliar accent.
“How
many suits do you have?” Adebayo asked him.
“Forty
five.”
“Then
start drawing lots on who is going to die. Once all your personnel are
transferred we are going to destroy your ship.”
“You
are Navy! You cannot do this. You must observe the rule of law and take us
prisoner for a fair trial.”
Adebayo
motioned to Guns.
The
ship gave a brief shudder and flame blossomed from the rear of the cruiser.
“You
now have no engines at all. Another shot in the same place will hit your fuel
supply. You will be left with only your nuclear reactors for electrical power. By
our calculation this will leave you just over a week to survive on the
environment that you have. We are kind and merciful. Perhaps a distress signal
is in order? Starting about now?”
“They
could start taking the suits back with them after the second batch comes over.”
Givens observed.
“They
are that bright?” Adebayo mused, “I think not,” he thought some more, “I am
also prepared to wager that the senior people will come over first. The menials
will be left to their fate.”
“Very
likely.” Givens nodded.
The
speaker came to life again, “We will begin the ferry shortly.”
There
was almost a snarl of contempt in the voice
They
waited for several hours. At last a pinnace slipped out of the cruiser and
headed for the frigate. It moved very slowly.
“Stop
the pinnace!” Givens said.
Adebayo
called out to the cruiser to stop the pinnace where it was.
No
answer.
The
pinnace kept moving.
“Life
signs on the pinnace, Scans?”
“One,
Sir.”
“Guns?
Remove the pinnace. Gently.”
“Sir.”
The
pinnace was still less than a thousand metres from the cruiser when Guns hit it
with a pulse beam. The bow melted and then, unexpectedly, there was a
cataclysmic explosion that ripped soundlessly through space.
“Damage
report, all stations,” Adebayo called out. He turned to Givens, “What made you
think the pinnace was a bomb?”
“Moving
too slowly. The pilot was really frightened of something. I also believe it
would have accelerated faster with just six people on board.”
No
damage to the frigate was reported but they could all see a large hole in the
side of the cruiser where the engine block of the pinnace had been blasted back
into it.
Atmosphere
was still venting from the gash when the cruiser called for help.
“We
are depressurising. We need help. Send a boat for us,” the voice sounded
genuinely frantic.
The
Lieutenant Commander of the ‘Alacrity’ was calm, “Commander Adebayo here. Unfortunately
we are rendered hors de combat as a result of enemy fire and need to
return to base for repairs. We shall return for you in approximately fourteen
days. In the meantime you will find enough oxygen and cocaine aboard the
freighter’s cargo holds to keep you going. It is known that you will not
depressurise completely so, sadly, you should survive until another, Naval,
ship comes to rescue you. ‘Alacrity’ out,” he turned to the helmsman, “Lieutenant
Commander Givens and his crew are returning to their patrol vessel. As soon as
they have gone we shall depart.”
“Aye,
aye, Sir.”
“That’s
not quite true, Sir.” Givens was rising to his feet and holding his hand out.
“Which
part, Lieutenant Commander?”
“The
cocaine part. There’s none in the freighter. We transferred it to our spares
locker. The mass is estimated at around one hundred and twenty tonnes.”
Adebayo
whistled, “That’s a hell of a lot. Why did you put it aboard the ‘Nimrod’?”
“If
they blew us out of the water then they’d lose their cargo, too. That’d make
them smart a bit.”
“Bit
of a risk but it turned out alright,” Adebayo said.
Givens
was almost off the bridge when he looked over his shoulder. “The cruiser. Women
and children?”
“Who
knows?” the Commander shrugged, “They made no plea and have destroyed enough
lives with their execrable trade,” he considered for a moment or two then shook
his head, “No. On balance, they can all rot. They are all part of it. They
decided against our offer of help and tried to destroy us. We’ll inform Command
and they can send a ship to sort them out. Maybe.”
Lieutenant
Commander Givens and his crew delivered the cocaine to the security centre on
New Boston and then took a few days well-earned leave. Sub-Lieutenant Doyle
headed for the ranges with a new brace of pistols and Chief Rivas headed for
the beach south of Stockton.
Givens
was sorely tempted to go with her but decided that it would be inappropriate
and went over to the racing circuits to let off a little steam with some old
fashioned sports cars with horribly filthy petrol engines.
They
were two weeks into their next patrol when Chief Rivas handed Givens a note.
He
glanced down at it, grimaced and pressed the communications panel button marked
‘All Crew’.
“Hear
ye, hear ye. This is your Captain speaking. We are going to Communications
Centre at Command Headquarters. We have been summoned to attend a Board of
Enquiry in the matter of the freighter ‘Stirling Castle’ and the retired Sabre
Class cruiser ‘Cutlass’. Lieutenant Sullivan to the Bridge if you will, Sir.”
No.2
stepped on to the bridge. “Sir?”
Givens
handed him the note. Sullivan read it, looked at Chief Rivas who shook her
head.
“This
is nonsense. Tell the crew all of it,” Sullivan looked outraged.
Givens
took a deep breath and keyed the microphone, “The rest of the order from
Command says that Commander Adebayo, ‘Alacrity’, and Lieutenant Commander
Givens, ‘Nimrod’, are to be arraigned pending courts martial and summary of
evidence. No details of charges are listed.”
A
gruff voice, unidentified but sounding remarkably like Lundgren, came over the
speakers, “Let’s steal the boat and bugger off.”
Applause
and general approval sounded from all over the small ship.
“We
are not abandoning a brave Commander to his fate alone. We shall return and
face whatever justice is meted out. Command will not treat us as whipping boys
or hold us up as an example to the politically correct, I am certain.”
He
looked down at helm and nodded. Helm sighed and punched in the co-ordinates for
CommCen CommHQ.
Commander
Adebayo and Lieutenant Commander Givens stood before the Admiral of the Fleet
for a thorough dressing down.
Words
like ‘unprofessional’, ‘foolhardy’, ‘reckless endangerment’ crossed the
Admiral’s desk.
The
punishment decreed was that they would have new commands. Both of them were to
get one of the new ‘Wells’ class of cruisers and follow the directions of a
newly promoted Rear Admiral called Hill-Clarke. They were to be at the core of
a new squadron operating in deep space behind Hill-Clarke’s Battleship, the
‘Reagan’.
“I
should also tell you the irony of your encounter with the drug runners,” Admiral
of the Fleet Andriy Pravichenko turned to his ‘filing’ cabinet and poured three
stiff drinks, “We shall toast your new appointment with a fine malt. I, also,
will be going to the new Command Headquarters at Titan Base and setting up a
scientific investigation branch there to complement the one on Mars.”
He
sat down and raised his glass.
“Your
drug runner would not, very likely, have been caught had he not been so greedy.
It is also possible that Captain Pederson of the ‘Stirling Castle’ should also
be alive today were it not for his greed.”
Andy
smiled gently into his glass while he organised his thoughts.
“On
examination of all the facts including copious entries made by the ship’s
Chaplain in her private log; Captain Pederson killed a young man he thought was
called Karel Steyr in order to reduce the ship’s mass. This would save,
marginally at best, on fuel, food, environmental energy and go unnoticed in the
larger scheme of things. And so it would have except that he chose to crush the
poor fellow alive into a disc that was then ejected into space. Upon returning
to this, apparently safe, area for a further rendezvous they hit young ‘Steyr’
at some speed—enough to rupture the forward hull and vent the atmosphere of the
crew compartments to space. All this is in clear and gruesome detail on the
Bridge camera as well as faithfully recorded in ill-disguised lies in the ship’s
log.”
He
took a sip of the malt and savoured it.
“The
freighter was now a drifting hulk and, but for the alertness of your ship’s
brain, it would have killed you all in the ‘Nimrod’. Hah! Happily, your sensors
were not attuned solely to rocks, metal and ice!” Andy chuckled and took
another appreciative sip.
“Enter
the drug runners in their dubiously acquired cruiser. Extremely under armed and
relying on the size and appearance of threat rather than actual danger from
weaponry. Here is the irony. The lad that Pederson killed was actually called
Lukas Altmeyer. He has been hunted by the authorities for some time in
connection with several murders—including that of Karel Steyr who was brutally
slain over several hours, it seems. So. Justice was served there. Pederson
kills the killer for us and then the killed killer kills Pederson! Hah! We like
this, no?”
They
all chuckled. Givens raised his glass, “Salut. Here’s to the heroes of the
criminal underworld.”
“Yes.
Quite. There’s one more thing, Gentlemen.”
He
took a larger sip of the malt and rolled it around his mouth with great relish.
“More?”
Adebayo asked.
“Oh,
yes. Indeed. The cruiser’s Captain, now in custody at Pearly Base, has been
sought for several years in connection with a considerable number of killings,
prostitution, drug-running and human trafficking across a large portion of the
galaxy. He was called...” Andy lit a cigar and leaned back. “Mikel Altmeyer. The
father of Lukas. Lukas turned out to be quite a hero in his death.”
“Three
for the price of one, in fact,” Commander Adebayo observed thoughtfully.
“Now
let’s go out there and catch some more, Gentlemen.” Andy drained his drink and
stood.
The
formalities were over and it was back to a bigger war than any would have
thought.
Andy
watched them leave the office, a worried look creasing his kindly old features.
He
picked a file up from his desk. It was headed ‘Cosmic Top Secret’ and titled:
“Missing Bios, Frigates and Destroyers”.
“A job for the new Deep Space Squadron,” he
sighed.
