Relics of War, page 7
“Depends.” Merrok leaned his chair back and kicked his feet up on a console. Scuff marks from the hundreds of times he’d done this before marred the metal surface. “Straight odds and no other information? Yeah, that’d be nuts. But if I happened to know something no one else did? If I knew the dark horse in a ship race had just installed an upgraded power plant? I might think differently then.” He jabbed a finger at Kayn’s chest. “I know Ambrose, and he knows the AI Wars, probably better than anyone in thirty—a hundred and thirty—light-years. If he thinks there’s a good chance the depot is there, I’m willing to bet on him.”
“I guess.” Kayn shrugged and pushed off from the bulkhead. “Like I always say, you’re the boss, Hauptmann. You make the decisions, but you take the blame if they go wrong.”
“Don’t forget you’re a boss, too. I made you Kommandant of the squadron. I expect you to support my decisions and help make them go right. You wouldn’t stab your Hauptmann in the back, would you, Kayn?”
Kayn shook his head and sauntered out the door. When it slid shut behind him, his arm shot out to steady himself against the passageway bulkhead. Never forget how sharp Merrok is under his folksy exterior. He’d done a good job of pinning Kayn down in there. Maybe he needed to recruit some allies and have them help him talk Merrok out of this. He’d have liked Rhonwen’s help, but he had a lot of patching up to do with her beforehand.
He stared at the deck as he plodded back to his cabin, thinking about his situation and what he could do to derail their search. He noted the flashing ‘new messages’ signal when he entered and pressed the retrieve button on his comm panel. Maybe Rhonwen had called.
No such luck. “You’ve got terrible timing, Kayn,” said Merrok’s voice. “Ambrose is back. Come up to the bridge again.”
Great, and Ambrose would have had more time alone with Merrok to fill his head with visions of riches. Kayn turned and trotted along the passageways he’d just walked so slowly. When the door to the bridge slid open, his skin glistened with a trace of sweat and his breath came in short gasps.
Ambrose leaned forward in his seat, gesturing and talking with Merrok. Merrok leaned back in his chair, nodding as Ambrose continued. “We haven’t got the range to go straight to the depot, even if we knew exactly where it was. So we’ll hop from system to system working our way there. We can refuel at the stations out there, but I don’t know if we can get the other supplies we might need. I’ve got a list, and in a few days we’ll have all the equipment and supplies on board. That way there’s no risk of getting to some remote station and not being able to find something, right?” Ambrose glanced up at Kayn, flashed him a quick smile, then returned his attention to Merrok. “There’s no actual hurry, so waiting a few more days isn’t a problem.”
It isn’t a problem for the ship, but it does give me a few days to line up some allies. “He’s right, Hauptmann. Waiting a few days shouldn’t hurt anything.”
Merrok nodded, rubbed his chin, and his eyes darted back and forth between the two men. Kayn wasn’t sure what information Merrok gleaned from this, but he dropped into a chair next to the Hauptmann and gave him his best confident expression.
Merrok nodded again. “I think you’re right. Okay, Ambrose, put in the orders. Kayn, talk with maintenance about spares and such for the squadron. If we’re going out to the boonies, we better have everything we need.”
19
WRECKAGE TELLS THE TALE
Murdock paced back and forth behind the technicians on the bridge. “Are you sure there’s no sign of life on the Breuer?”
“Jawohl, Herr Flottillenadmiral.”
“Absolutely sure?”
“Jawohl, Herr Flottillenadmiral.”
“What about on the planet? Any sign there?”
“Nein, Herr Flottillenadmiral.”
“And power, is anyone using power? On the ship or on the surface?”
“Herr Flottillenadmiral, there are some readings of power in both locations, but they match power cell output for small devices: hand lights, audio or video recorders, personal communicators, and so on. None are behaving as if they are being used.”
“Are you sure?”
Aiofe stepped up next to him, touching his arm with one hand. “Mur—Herr Flottillenadmiral, your staff is doing their best. Perhaps we should wait for investigation teams to return their reports. In the meantime, can I suggest we retire to your Bereitschaftsraum once again? I have some ideas I’d like to discuss with you.”
Murdock straightened up and grimaced at her. “Of course, Major. After you.” He gestured to the door. “Notify me immediately if the investigation teams find anything.”
“Jawohl, Herr Flottillenadmiral.”
Relief colored the technician’s reply, but Murdock chose to ignore it. He followed Aiofe to his Bereitschaftsraum and took a seat at his desk. “Well?”
“The preliminary reports look as if they were attacked by pirates,” said Aiofe, her face tight. “They damaged the power systems to take down the shields and most likely boarded. They didn’t destroy the ship outright because they would lose the loot that way. After they crippled the ship, they saw the dig site and attacked that in case they could gather more loot. They killed everyone.” She swallowed, her voice going faint as she contemplated the wholesale slaughter of a group of scientists, archaeologists, and students. “All of them.”
“Of course, that’s the most likely scenario,” said Murdock. He swiveled his chair from side to side, thinking about what would have brought pirates to such a deserted corner of the SE. “Perhaps they intercepted the encrypted signal. Something like that could indicate value.”
“Yes, perhaps.” She touched her throat with the tips of her fingers, her lips twisting. “The pirates would leave again after securing all the valuables. Any artifacts they found they’d take. If we want them back, we’ll have to find them.”
“That could be difficult.” Murdock glanced at his console, considering if he should pull up the specific figures. “Piracy isn’t rampant in this area, but there are surely several groups whose operational area includes this system. Picking the right one, then tracking them down would take some time. If it could be done at all. What if we waited for the artifacts to surface and follow the trail that way?”
Aiofe winced. “I’d rather not. They might hold them for some time, and if they were sealed in a security case, they might just sell the whole case with no mention of what was inside. Finally, there might be some collector with an open call for archaeological finds and the fence might contact them directly so the artifacts never appear on the open market.”
“Hmmm, granted. Well, this is all hypothetical until we hear from the investigators. Even then, we’ll need to contact the Admiralstab for new orders.”
“True. I suppose we could begin doing some research—”
A blinking alert cut her off, and Murdock answered the signal. “Flottillenadmiral Akerman.”
“Herr Flottillenadmiral, the investigation teams have a preliminary report. Definitely pirates. The Breuer has been stripped. The dig site as well. No sign of any artifacts. Just bodies.”
“Very good. Inform communications I’ll send a signal back to Admiralstab. Have them arrange for full encryption. Meanwhile, have operations prepare a full report on pirate activity in the region. Major Sheehy and I will begin a preliminary survey once I’ve sent my message.”
“Jawohl, Herr Flottillenadmiral. Communications to encrypt a message to Admiralstab. Operations to report on pirate activity.”
Murdock cut the channel and opened a fresh text document on his console. A few minutes of composition ended with a terse request for orders and the preliminary report that pirates had attacked and killed the research team, taking all artifacts. He forwarded it to the communications section and looked up to see Aiofe looking thoughtful as she tapped her fingertips together.
“You know,” she said, in a dreamy tone, “I once served on a privateer. I learned a lot about predicting the movement of pirates. I’m not sure if I want to look at the report on piracy or go down and look at the raw data.”
“It’s not necessary for you to work with operations,” said Murdock. “I can access all the raw data from here if you’d like. But can you do anything the operations staff can’t?”
She reached out and activated the holographic display and a virtual keyboard for her side of the desk. “Possibly. I may have instincts they don’t.” Her fingers rippled across the desk, calling up information in huge, unprocessed chunks.
Across the desk, Murdock leaned back in his chair and steepled his fingers. This kind of personal intervention never appealed to him. He chose competent staff and assigned them their tasks. They returned the data he needed to make decisions and carried out his commands as directed. Command of ships, fleets, and nations required this kind of delegation. A leader could not dig down into details themselves. They would drown in irrelevancies.
He watched as Aiofe dove deep into the data stream. Her focus intense, her eyes bright, her fingers quick and sure. He’d never seen this side of her and found it attractive. Like a finely crafted tool or weapon, well fitted to its purpose, sharp and penetrating. She’d done research previously under his command, but he’d removed himself from it, never staying to watch what he considered the dull drudgery of science. Now he saw the other side. The inspirations, the wild chases, the blind alleys, the changes in tactics, retrenching and attacking the problem from another angle. In another life, he might have enjoyed joining in this sort of pursuit, but this life had different priorities.
As time dragged on, he stood and went to the bridge for a moment, summoning a steward and ordering a meal to be brought to them. He took up a small portable screen and completed some of the necessary paperwork that made its way as high as the Flottillenadmiral. When the food arrived, Aiofe took enough notice to snatch bites as she worked but did not—could not?—stop. Murdock ate slowly, savoring the privileges his rank earned him, such as a personal chef of outstanding accomplishment. He finished the meal and returned to his paperwork, clearing his queue of all his routine approvals for the first time in months. He’d dug down into a report of fleet readiness states around the SE and sketched out four different redeployments allowing his forces to penetrate deep into neighboring sectors against weak resistance when Aiofe sat back and sighed. He looked up as she grabbed the neglected plate and cut greedily into the remaining food.
“Take a look,” she said, around the food stuffed into her mouth. She waved a fork at the holographic display.
Murdock leaned forward and examined the data. Lists of pirate activity in the past, with several marked where privateers or naval forces had intervened. One was highlighted. He expanded the data on it. Pirate attack on a freighter. Privateer intervenes, cripples the pirate, boards, strips the loot, puts up a marker for salvage. Murdock shook his head and leaned back.
“So what makes this important?” he asked, pointing at the highlighted incident.
She reached out and pulled a report from the ship’s system. It appeared the investigators had made a more complete report in the time he’d been watching her work. He found the section she’d highlighted here. The Breuer had put out a few satellites to relay local communications and expand their sensor reach. One ship just couldn’t be everywhere, and this was standard practice in situations when a ship remained in orbit for long periods. When the pirates attacked, the Breuer dumped full sensor data on the ship to the satellites, along with periodic updates as the attack proceeded. The team lead who’d assembled the report must have been disturbed by the progression of the attack then the abrupt end to the transmissions.
Murdock glanced up at Aiofe, but she just waved her fork, loaded with the last of her dessert, in a circle. Continue. He looked back and forth between the report and her piracy research. A sensor trace from the privateer caught his eye. He opened that and the trace from Breuer side by side. To his inexperienced eye, they matched.
Aiofe pushed her empty plate aside. “Most likely the ship the privateer took out was the same one that attacked the Breuer here. We can check for sure once we get there. Then try and determine where she might have stopped on the way and sold off loot. Or maybe the artifacts are still there in the hull. But most likely, the privateer took them along with everything else. We find her, get them back, job done.”
He nodded but held up a restraining hand. “First, we need our orders. They may recall us or have another mission. Who knows if this is important enough for us to pursue.” Murdock stopped. Aiofe shook her head, confidence plain on her face.
“No recall, no other mission. They’ll have us chase them down and do whatever it takes to get these back. No question.”
“But why?” Murdock stared at her, theories shooting through his mind. “You saw the message. What was in it that would be so important?”
She shook her head again. “Classified, sorry. But just you wait.”
His console chimed. He checked. A priority message from the Admiralstab, short and pointed, directed him to pursue the pirates, or whoever now possessed the artifacts, with all due force and to retrieve them. They appended authorization to pursue outside their borders and to engage pirates, privateers, civilian traffic, and foreign naval vessels. It represented more authority than any admiral had been given outside of active war. Carte blanche.
Aiofe leaned over his shoulder and skimmed the document. “What did I tell you.”
He grunted and pressed a control on his console putting him through to his chief of staff. “Break orbit. Recall all ships to formation. Plot course for…” The hologram still displayed the location of the pirate ship. He grabbed it and forwarded it. “Here. I want us on our way as quickly as possible. And we will be combat ready when we arrive. It’s unlikely, but we may encounter a privateer, so call up any information on its armament.”
“Jawohl, Herr Flottillenadmiral. The name of the privateer?”
Aiofe answered with her eyes closed, contemplating some inner vision. “The Alcazar. Commanded by Hauptmann Merrok Ledon.”
20
DRINKING TO DISCOURAGE
Kayn lifted his glass and drank more of the station-brewed beer. Some stations made it a point of pride to brew the best beer they could, and some of it exceeded anything he’d drank before. But here, there were so many brewers that they’d self-separated into classes. High-end brewers had good quality control and worked to develop new recipes. Mid-line brewers found a few classic types and churned them out at a lower cost with little innovation. Low-end brewers made their beers as cheaply as possible, trying to capture the destitute spacer demographic.
Unfortunately, today Kayn drank with some of his pilots who measured quantity over quality. The more drinks they could get in their systems, the better the bar. They’d chosen to spend their money in a bar that catered to the cheap end of the spectrum, pouring low-end beer into dirty glasses as quickly as possible. The tab would be small, compared to the number of drinks, but Kayn knew he would have a pounding headache the next morning. So far, the drinks had all stayed down, but there was no guarantee this happy state of affairs would continue.
Kayn held court over a pair of tables shoved together with five more pilots gathered around. He’d been out drinking with most of the rest of the squadron’s pilots over the last two days. The Alcazar’s medic supplied him with a variety of medications to help with this alcoholic overdose and its aftermath, but he still felt queasy and slept poorly.
His record stood at one hesitant half-supporter. No matter how dismissive he was of Ambrose’s plan, the pilots still supported it. He’d come to wonder if pilots really did have the mythic fighter-jock personality where the greater the risk, the more enthusiastic they were. It would explain the near-unanimous support for a plan he’d disparaged, giving examples of how asinine it was.
This group represented his last try. Maybe they’d see the danger outweighed the likely profit.
“A toast to Kommandant Eld! Kayn Eld, a fine pilot, a great leader, and finder of the map that will lead us to riches!”
Maybe not.
The pilots raised their glasses and shouted the various phrases their backgrounds provided for this moment. “Skoal!” “Prost!” “Cheers!” “Salute!” “Kampai!”
Kayn raised his glass but drank in silence. When the glasses were emptied and back down on the table, he tried again. “Thank you, I appreciate it. I hope this voyage will bring us the extravagant riches we all expect. Ambrose is still working to identify our destination, but we should be able to reach it in only a few months, if his initial estimates are right. With careful management of our fuel and our savings, we should be able to reach the depot without getting stranded in some backwater system.”
He looked around to gauge the effect his extremely qualified statement had on the crew, but it appeared no one heard. Several ordered new drinks. Others refilled their glasses from a pitcher. On previous nights, he’d talked one on one, but it hadn’t gone well unless they’d already shown doubts of their own. Pulling one of these heavy drinkers aside wouldn’t make a difference.
Maybe he’d run out of options. In the past, he would talk to Rhonwen or Ambrose to strategize on some new problem. But now, the problem revolved around Ambrose, and Rhonwen refused to speak to him. He couldn’t see how he could win this one.
Maybe he should just get drunk.
21
RICHES UNTOLD
Kayn waited with the rest of the crew in an empty cargo space. His head pounded at every raised voice or clang. Merrok had summoned the crew for their final briefing before leaving the station. Maybe it wouldn’t last very long, and Kayn could get back to dying in peace. But it couldn’t even start since Merrok hadn’t arrived yet. Neither had Ambrose, and Kayn was sure he’d be a part of this. Come to think of it, neither had Rhonwen.
