A Greater Interest: Samair in Argos: Book 4 (52 page)

              Eretria approved of this sentiment, but it would prove far too difficult, or at least time consuming and expensive to actually do the job necessary to bring the battlecruiser’s DPN to a level that would allow an AI.  It would take months in the slip, tearing into the innards of the warship and a slightly insane amount of work to fix what was, essentially, not broken.  She said as much and the colonel agreed, reluctantly, but that gleam never quite left his eyes.  He had some ideas; it seemed Gants was not entirely ready to abandon the concept.

              She laughed to herself.  If she wasn’t so busy, she would gladly help the man brainstorm.  She couldn’t even assign Leader Ka’Xarian and his team of engineer researchers to the task; they had assignments of their own.  But Eretria wouldn’t be terribly surprised if a box or two of ku’resh and a case of beer found its way into the possession of the team leader and a few hours and processor cycles would be spent working on the colonel’s problem.  Completely off the books, of course.

              She leaned back in the chair.  There was so much work to get done by supper, though Eretria didn’t have anything planned.  Just grab some of the grub from the commissary then make one last pass through Slip Three before heading off to bed.  Her console pinged, a message was waiting in her inbox.  Setting down her datapad, she pressed the control and brought up the message. 

              It was from Colonel Gants.  She didn’t even notice the smile sliding over her lips. 
Dinner tonight, my cabin?  0800.  My steward is making lasagna that you would kill for.  We can make it a working dinner, if you prefer. 

              Eretria did notice the smile then, and a flush of pleasure, as she typed out a response. 
I’ll be there and I look forward to challenging this claim about the lasagna.  I’ll bring my datapad, but whether I need it will depend on the company and the cuisine.
  Chuckling, she sent the message, snatched up her datapad and then leaned back in the chair and returned to work.  But after a moment, she pressed a control on the device and set a reminder for dinner, giving herself plenty of time to get ready.  She didn’t want to disappoint the Colonel, even if all that happened was dinner.

              Apogee watched the woman get back to work, puzzled at what she was witnessing.  One moment, Ms. Sterling had been busy looking over the report from the
Leytonstone
’s engineering crew, then she stopped, pensive, lost in some thought.  At first, Apogee believed she must be mentally drawing an image of some of the damage, but it must have been a purely mental picture, for Sterling possessed none of the neuro implants that so many of the others did.  A strange affectation, but one that the AI had not pursued.  But then she had received a message from the commander of the battlecruiser and her whole demeanor had changed.  She had gone from mostly focused on her work to completely distracted.  Apogee accessed some of the files she had on human anatomy and physiological behavior and if she didn’t know better, the woman’s reactions were those of one who was anticipating a mating ritual.  But by checking the text of the message Sterling had received, the colonel had only invited her to his cabin for the evening meal. 

              Apogee was a young AI and she understood that she didn’t understand a great deal about the world around her and especially its peoples.  There was a great variety of people here in the shipyard complex and now a great deal more with the arrival of the
Leytonstone
.  It gave the young AI a good sample size to work with to try and work out cultural norms, social practices and the varieties of behavior from the different races.  But even with hours of interaction and more of observation, one thing was absolutely clear: Apogee was going to require a great deal more study to understand humans.  A great deal more.

Chapter 17

              “Well, I have to say this is an absolute pleasure to see you and your ship here in our humble star system, Captain…?”

              “Hogan, sir,” the older man replied, shaking the governor’s hand.  Tobias Hogan was a grizzled salt who had skippered tanker ships back on Seylonique’s oceans, transporting oil and other petroleum products from the ocean derricks to the port city of Abrantis for twenty-three years.  Then came the arrival of Vincent Eamonn and his lot, changing everything.  The idea of plying the spacelanes and seeing new worlds was intriguing and if he could do so on a fancy new ship, with a nice bump in pay, well, no was ever accused Mama Hogan’s baby boy of being a fool.

              This is Acheron Val fellow was a bit more effusive in his praise than Hogan was used to, especially for someone hauling fuel.  Of course, it seemed these Heb people had ran way into their reserves, a bit of a dangerous practice as far as he was concerned.  But that wasn’t his job.  His job was hauling He3 fuel.

              “I’m glad to be here, sir,” Hogan went on.  He’d ridden down on one of
Ma Mystere
’s big transport shuttles; he’d wanted a chance to see this new world and to supervise the unloading.  Apparently, the locals had requested the fuel be unloaded in two places; one in the field near the edge of the main city of Vanoria, but the other was in a fuel storage facility at the edge of the same city on the sea.  This would force the shuttles to set down in the water of the harbor, something they could easily do, and hook up their hoses to the storage tanks.

              The whole process was terribly inefficient, but
Ma Mystere
was incapable of entering or escaping a planetary atmosphere or gravity well.  So, Hogan was forced to use shuttles.  It would make much more sense to build a small station, or even just a platform in orbit and then have a local shuttle service bring the fuel down from there.  It would reduce the amount of time that the tanker would be stuck in system, waiting for its tanks to be emptied, which meant that the runs would be shorter.  He’d mention it to higher ups back home.

              “But I must ask,” Val went on, releasing Hogan’s hand and gesturing to a chair.  The governor himself had come out to the seaside fuel tank facility.  They were less than one hundred meters from where workers were attaching hoses from the pumps on the dock to the ports on the shuttle’s hull to drain the fuel.  The transfer would take a few hours time, from which the governor had decided to take out of his undoubtedly busy schedule to come over and meet the tanker captain personally.  “What happened to Captain Eamonn and the
Grania Estelle
?”

              Hogan smiled, settling himself into the hard metal folding chair.  “Orders from higher up, Governor.  The
Grania Estelle
was given a new route once my ship,
Ma Mystere
, was completed.  As you know, we’re bringing in your standard order of fuel.”

              “Of course, of course,” the man replied.  He looked stricken.  “I didn’t mean to imply I was ungrateful.”  The governor was almost tripping over his words in an effort to apologize.  “I only meant that ours is really a fledgling society.  We suffered greatly with the reactor failure of over a year ago and of course with the radiation damage and sickness from our nuclear fission reactors.”  He shuddered at the memory.  So much sickness and death.

              Hogan frowned.  “I guess I don’t understand, Governor.  How could the
Grania Estelle
possibly help out?”

              Val chuckled.  “Your company has already helped the people of my world in so many ways, Captain Hogan.  Just the radiation cleanup and the treatment of the sick and dying was help enough.  But helping with the new fuel source, the changeover and construction of the new reactors… well.  We owe you and your people a great debt.”

              Hogan shrugged.  “I know that Captain Eamonn didn’t do all that for free, Governor.  I’m sure you and your people did pay him, either in money or trade goods.”

              Val shrugged.  “It doesn’t feel like enough.”

              Hogan blinked.  “Forgive me, sir,” he said, clearing his throat as it looked as though the other man was about to mentally drift off.  “But now I’m even more puzzled as to how it is you think I can help.”

              “Well, Captain,” Val said, his voice hesitant, but more because he was building up to something.  “What I would like from you it twofold.  First: I would very much like to see you and your ship coming here on a regular basis; we need the steady supply of fuel.”

              “I think that will be easy enough to arrange, sir,” Hogan replied confidently.

              Val beamed.  “Excellent.  The second thing, well, I was hoping that you could prevail upon either Captain Eamonn or your other higher authority to send a more… permanent presence?”

              It took the tanker captain a moment to understand.  “You mean a warship,” he said to the other man.

              Val nodded, glad that the man followed where he was leading.  “I mean a military presence of some kind, yes.  Is that something you could do?”

              Hogan was already shaking his head.  “Sir, I’m a freighter captain.  I’ve no power to influence anyone in these matters.”  He held up a hand to forestall the governor’s next objection.  “The best I can offer is my word to pass along your request.  What the higher ups do with it, well, that’s up to them.”

              The governor leaned forward, elbows on knees, his suit jacket open and necktie hanging over.  “That’s all I ask.  I appreciate your time, Captain.”  He rose to his feet and Hogan followed suit.  “I wish I had time for a best brandy and choice cigar, but duty calls.  Thank you for taking the time.”

              Hogan grunted.  “Yes, governor, I understand.  I’ll make sure your message gets passed along as soon as I get home.”

              “Thank you again, Captain Hogan,” Acheron Val said, shaking the man’s hand again before he turned and left.

              Tobias Hogan watched him go and get intercepted by a swarm of aides.  From what he’d seen, Heb was a good world; the people were decent.  He’d certainly pass along the request.

              “Governor, you asked to be informed if any ships arrived.  Well, one did.  It’s one of the warlord’s ships.  It entered the system and landed just over an hour ago.”

              Val blanched at his PA’s news.  “A warship?”

              His PA nodded.  Rodney was unflappable as always.  “Yes, sir.  But it’s much smaller than the usual one we’ve seen, the one that firebombed those islands the first time they arrived here.  It can only hold between five and ten people.  And they haven’t called in or made any demands.  They just landed on the outskirts of the Market District and eight people debarked.”

              “We’ve got people watching them?”

              “Of course, sir.  Discreetly as always, per your orders, sir.”

              “Good.”  They arrived at the governor’s private car and one of his security people opened the rear door for him and Val climbed into the back of the black painted vehicle with its tinted windows.  Rodney climbed in just behind.  The door closed.  “Back to the office, Amanda,” Val called out to the driver.  Without a word, the driver engaged the drive and the car started off. 

              Acheron Val slumped in the seat.  “Shades, this is all I need right now.  So, what, the warlord’s thugs are just in the Market District bar-hopping?”

              “Not so much hopping as squatting, sir,” Rodney said, a grim smile on his face.  “But essentially correct.”

              Val frowned.  “So they come all this way to Heb from wherever the hell it is they come from just to stop for a few drinks?  That seems like an awful waste of time and money.” 
They must have some other business nearby, either here in Heb or another nearby system.  Otherwise, these are the most wasteful drunks I’ve ever seen.
  “Wait, you said that their ship could only hold maybe ten people?”

              Rodney nodded, double-checking a notepad clutched in his hand.  “Yes, sir, about that much.”

              “And you said eight of them are currently at one of the bars in Market District?”  The seeds of a plan were forming here.

              “Yes, sir.  I see where you’re going here.”             

              “Who is watching the ship?”

              Rodney checked his notes.  “Rebecca Danforth, sir.  And Tessa Gowan.  They’re both very good.”

              The governor pursed his lips.  “Contact Rebecca.  You’re right; she’s solid.  Get her opinion on storming the ship.  Can it be done?  Estimated casualties, that sort of thing.”

              “Yes, Governor.”  Rodney pulled a blocky radiophone from his jacket pocket, keyed in a code and then spoke quietly into the device.  A moment later, he listened to the response. 

Acheron looked away, out the bulletproof glass at the passing buildings and other cars.  Day to day business, a meeting with a fuel tanker captain and now the arrival of one of the warlord’s ships.  A full day, so far this was.

“Repeat your last, Position One,” Rodney said, pressing a button to activate the speaker.  “You’re on with the governor.”

              Acheron shook his head, chasing away the pensive fog and sat up straighter on the leather seat.  A woman’s voice came over the speaker, her voice pitched low.  “The ship is parked on the edge of the hill.  Their main side door is wide open.  Two crewmembers are sitting outside, one zheen, one man.”  A pause.   “They’re just sitting there.  The man is smoking and the zheen is reading one of those data slates they use.  Request instructions.”

              “Hold, Position One,” Val ordered.  Rodney pressed a key, muting the call.  “How long to get soldiers up there?”

              Rodney consulted his notes.  Efficient as always, he must have already gotten the answer.  “Seven minutes, sir.  I’ve got a guard unit on the way.”

              Acheron considered this.  That would be between four and eight brown and gray jacketed soldiers armed with rifles making their way up the hill to storm the tiny warship.  Even if there was one or two inside the ship the guard should be able to handle them.

              But then what?  Even if things went perfectly and Heb was in possession of a used but intact warship and no one died, Val wasn’t fool enough to think no one would notice.  A ship of the warlord’s fleet doesn’t report in, their last known destination is Heb and
no one
puts the pieces together?

              “Stand down,” Val ordered.  “Get her back on the line.”  Rodney frowned but pushed the button without complaint.  “Position One, this is Governor Val.  Maintain surveillance, do not engage.  Say again, maintan surveillance, do not engage.”

              “Sir, this is the perfect opportunity,” the observer objected.

              “Understood, Position One.  Now carry out your orders.  Out.”  He gestured and the PA ended the call.  “Get that guard unit on the line.  Tell them to stand down.  They are to watch the crew of the ship but unless they get violent, they are
not
to take them on. 
Now
, Rodney,” he said firmly when it was clear the man was about to argue.

              Stone-faced, the PA entered in another code and began to speak into the phone.  Acheron sat back in the seat.  His people would complain about his apparent cowardice but he was actually working to save their lives.  The last thing they needed in their open and vulnerable skies was another of the warlord’s ships.  They had nothing to defend against firebombs from orbit.  Even stealing the small ship couldn’t make an appreciable difference. 

He prayed he was making the right decision.

Within two hours, the toughs had departed the bar, heading back to their ship.  They’d had a rowdy three hours and were staggering drunk back up the hill.  There they spent over forty minutes falling over, crawling on their bellies and stumbling to their feet to reach the ship.  The spotters watched them, but none of the Heb citizens made one move to alert or hinder them.

In a move that shocked everyone, the thugs actually paid for their drinks, even if what they paid was only about half of what the drinks cost.  Still, the fact that they paid anything and hadn’t trashed the establishment was far more remuneration than the proprietor had expected and he even went so far as to call it a good night.

The toughs piled aboard their ship and within minutes of the door sealing shut behind them, it’s engines roared to life, lifting the craft up off the ground.  Seconds later, the small vessel screamed into the sky, but not before passing low over the city, no doubt a calculated move to inspire fear in the populace.  The cutter flew less than two hundred meters above the ground, a distance so low it seemed as though someone reaching out of a top floor window could have reached out and touched it, though that was clearly impossible.  The cutter wasn’t traveling quite fast enough to blast out all the window glass in the area, but the bellow of the engines was certainly enough to terrify young childred and startly anyone else who heard it.