The Forever Hero (34 page)

The Forever Hero

The captain of the
Fleurdilis
frowned as he studied the hard copy of the schematic. He supposed he could have used the screen, rather than having gone to the trouble of having the pages printed, but he liked to be able to wander around the cabin with the diagrams, to be able to make notes at odd times without having to code up the file, to puzzle through the codes and routings.

He still didn't understand all the details represented in the diagrams, but he knew enough to understand that the ship whose command he had just assumed was not configured according to her own specifications, or that the ship's own databanks did not register the differences.

Admittedly, the majority of discrepancies were minor, where conduit blocs had been shifted less than a meter, in one case, to accommodate modifications to the forward launch tubes. But some were scarcely minor. The
Fleurdilis
no longer carried the installed equipment for its own emergency field recharging, nor did it carry the original energy capacitators, nor the original drive field equipment.

The newer equipment was not only smaller, but, compared to the original specifications, far less powerful.

In short, he was saddled with command of a nominal cruiser, but one with less real power than an old-style corvette. The lower power capability reduced range, screen defenses, and survivability.

He touched the console, without looking at the image that formed on the screen.

“Yes, Commander?”

“Send up Senior Technician Relyea, if she's available.”

“Yes, ser.”

The senior commander straightened his blacks, set down the schematics, and paced in a narrow circle in the small stateroom as he waited.

“Technician Relyea, Commander.”

The woman was petite, scarcely even to his shoulder, with brown hair knotted into a neat bun, black eyes, and new senior tech insignia on her collars.

“Sit down.” He pointed to the single guest chair.

She sat.

“Have you studied the basic schematics?” He pointed at the diagrams on the console.

She peered at them momentarily. “Not in detail. Those are really not much good.”

“Figured that out. Why weren't they updated? Means that the information in the databanks isn't reliable.”

The senior tech pursed her lips. “Not exactly, Commander. The data entries are not all they should be, but the correct information is there. Provided you know the keys…”

The Commander, still standing, turned and looked down at her.

“Go ahead.”

“When the downsizing orders came through, as each ship went through refit, new specs were added to the databanks. The originals were left.” She lifted her shoulders. “Just in case, I suppose.”

“Downsizing orders?”

“The CommFleet Order…about five years ago…the one that was to reduce fleet energy consumption by thirty percent, except for the First and Fifth fleets, and, of course, the scouts.”

“Did the rest of the galaxy downsize as well?” the commander snapped. “Forget that,” he added abruptly. “Planetside at the time.” He paused before continuing. “Was there any official explanation?”

Relyea cocked her head to one side. “Then I was number two on the
Bolivar
, chief tech ops, not on admin, but I recall the official reason was that an analysis of the Fleet had shown that in ninety-eight percent of all operations no more than fifty percent of the available power levels was ever required. Don't hold me to the exact numbers, but that was the general idea.”

“Too much peacetime.” He frowned. “About the specifications?”

“Yes. The new ones are under ‘Ship Specifications—downsized.' As you'd expect…”

“If one knew,” added the Commander.

“If one knew.”

The five-by-five cabin seemed to shrink, though it was more than twice the size of most cabins on the cruiser.

“If I might ask…Captain,” ventured the technician.

“Ask.”

“How did you end up with the
Fleurdilis?
”

The commander smiled. The senior technician, for her more than thirty years of service, shrank from the expression.

“Because someone wants to file me away, preferably to make a
mess of it as well, Relyea, and I don't intend to.” The hawk-yellow eyes bored into her. “Now. What other technical changes and booby traps are buried in this obsolescent excuse for a fighting ship?”

“That would be hard to say, Captain.”

“Don't care how hard or how long. You either know, or you don't. If you know, start telling me. If you don't, tell me, and go and find out. If I find out before you, we'll discuss your request for a transfer.”

“You aren't serious…”

“Relyea, I am very serious. We have orders to break orbit for my first patrol in two standard weeks. I intend to know the personnel background on every crew member cold before we break. Same for technical specs. Same for the teamwork that exists or doesn't.”

“Captain, I doubt that any line officer has requested or learned the technical details of his command.”

“I did, and I will here. As for the others, I wouldn't be surprised. Precedent is irrelevant. By the way, can you install a power diverter from the screens and grav fields to the drives?”

“Could be done, I suppose.”

“Good. Let me see your proposal by, say, 1800, tomorrow.”

“What do you have in mind?”

“Without full screen power, at least ought to be able to get to hell and gone out of trouble.”

Relyea nodded slowly.

“Anything else I should know?” asked the captain.

The senior technician frowned, looked at the deck, then into the hawk-yellow eyes. She looked back at the deck. Finally she stared at the wall.

The captain waited, knowing this time he could not afford to push.

The technician cleared her throat, once, twice.

The senior Commander slowly folded the older schematics, until they were small enough to fit into the single drawer under the console.

“Personnel…have you studied any…?”

“Taken a quick scan through the entire crew.”

“Your initial reaction?” The brisk voice was now tentative.

“Take some work to shape up.”

Relyea nodded once.

Again the captain smiled the smile that flared like a predator's before he spoke.

“Noticed a few other things, Relyea. Not one senior rating with time in grade left. Not one outstanding performance score. Forty
percent of the crew transferred in within the last three standard months. The scheduled refit postponed until
after
our first two patrols. Are those the sorts of things you're suggesting?”

The senior technician frowned, “Outside of the specs, you seem to have found out a great deal in the three days you've been aboard.”

“One thing I haven't found out, Relyea. Most important of all.”

“And that is, ser?”

“Who I can trust. Who is responsible.”

The senior technician swallowed. Swallowed again. “Captain…you give us orders. We'll get them done.”

The senior commander nodded. “Understand.” His voice was surprisingly soft. “I understand, Chief Technician. And I'll make it clear, quite clear, that
you
are the senior technician.”

“Thank you, Captain.” Relyea's voice picked up. “Do you want a quick rundown on what the other spec changes are and the difficulties? Now? Or later?”

“Can you run it into the system, under ‘Captain's Specs,' for me to study later tonight?”

“Give me two or three hours.”

The captain nodded. “Tomorrow,” he added, “right at 1400, Relyea, you'll take me on a tech walk-through. Want to meet every one of your techs. Every last one. Let them see me, see that line and tech work together.”

He turned directly to the thin-faced and older-looking woman. “I will work through my senior tech, and the senior tech will work for the captain and for the good of the ship.”

Relyea shivered at the intensity in the yellow eyes.

“I understand, Captain.”

His face smoothed out into a calmer expression, somehow, although none of his features had changed. “Looking forward to seeing your analysis. Very much. Anything else?”

“No, ser. No, ser.”

“Until 1400 tomorrow, then.”

She stood, saluted, and left.

The captain slowly shook his head. He hoped he could pull the
Fleurdilis
together…somehow.

“Torp away, Captain.”

“Stet.”

Gerswin returned his full attention to the ranked screens before his control couch, but did not tighten the acceleration harness.

“Determined their frequencies, Comm?”

“That's affirmative, Captain. But they're using a nonscanned transmission. Burst-blast.”

“Complete new image with each burst, rather than a continuous scan?”

“Stet.”

“Can we convert?”

“Negative. Not within orbit time.”

“Guns, do we have a better screen analysis?” Gerswin's eyes flickered over the third screen.

“Negative.”

Take one outmoded cruiser, underpowered, out on the Imperial fringes, and order the captain to investigate strange transmissions, without any backup. Then have the ship find a new alien space-going civilization, and leave the decisions in the hands of the captain. That was what he faced.

No time to torp back for instructions, instructions that would probably amount to “Use your own judgement.”

“Captain?”

Gerswin snapped his head up at the voice of the Executive Officer.

“Yes, Major Strackna?”

“Do you intend to continue toward orbit around the home planet?”

“Yes.”

“Might I ask why?”

“Because our orders indicate that if initial survey indicates the culture is less advanced, we are to initiate contact.”

“There are four large ships there, waiting, and the emissions beyond their screens indicate they are all carrying fusactors, or the local product.” Strackna's thin lips pressed together tightly after she finished.

Gerswin nodded. “That would seem to indicate no jumpshift technology.”

“Captain, Comm here. How soon before the next out-torp?”

“Hold on that until we have something new to report.”

“Stet.”

“That gives them more than eight times the power reserves we possess,” persisted Strackna.

“Without anywhere near the screens we have, Major.”

“This could be suicide.”

“I'll do my best to avoid that, Major. Suggest you return to your station. May need all the screens and power I can get.”

Gerswin refrained from shaking his head. Of the entire crew, the Executive Officer remained the biggest headache he had inherited. The only possible reason for her rank was her family connections. Once Gerswin had thought the I.S.S. above that. While he knew better, it didn't make solving the problem any easier.

The
Fleurdilis
was edging toward the alien's geocentric orbit station, right above the largest broadcast power source on the planet. Gerswin would have bet that the station was close to directly above the planetary capitol or what passed for it.

The ship shivered slightly as the antique antigravs failed to compensate evenly for the deceleration. Gerswin frowned as he scanned the screens, but he did not move to take over from Senior Lieutenant Harsna as the lieutenant continued the approach to the orbit station.

A tight smile played around the captain's face.

He knew all too well the gambit the
Fleurdilis
represented. An obsolete ship, crewed by a group of misfits, would be no loss to the Empire. Since the Dismorph Conflict, and the years that had passed since without event, more and more systems had come to question the value of the Empire and the resource taxes necessary to support it. Another alien adventure would be just the thing to drum up enthusiasm.

The Imperial strategists couldn't lose. If the
Fleurdilis
succeeded, then the newshawks would be told how a single obsolete ship, which was all that could be spared, overcame incredible odds continually one step from disaster. And if the
Fleurdilis
failed…what could one expect without greater support from the allied systems?

Besides, if the failure led to another war, then the Empire could use the war as an excuse to rebuild and strengthen its holds on territory and resources and to discredit the peacemonger critics.

Gerswin glanced across the command bridge at Major Strackna,
who scanned the power screens, all of them, not just the summaries represented on his console. Her jaw was tightly clinched, he could see.

He doubted she would ever understand just how expendable the Empire thought she was.

“Stationary in orbit, Captain.”

“Thank you, Harsna.”

“The four alien ships are spreading.”

“Stet.” Gerswin could see that himself. He stabbed a glowing stud. “Captain here. Any guesses on the magnitude of their screens?”

“Nothing definite, but from the background radiation, which seems to be residual secondary associated with fusactors, I'd have to say that their screens are not designed to block energy weapons or even high-speed torps.”

Gerswin pursed his lips. If so…the aliens had one or two obvious options.

If they were xenophobic, they would have already tried to destroy the
Fleurdilis
before it settled in orbit. That they hadn't meant that either they didn't think they could or didn't want to.

If they couldn't—

“Multiple launchings.”

“Permission to destroy attackers, Captain!” demanded Strackna.

“Permission denied,” snapped Gerswin, touching another stud.

“Estimated ETA at
Fleurdilis?
”

“Twelve plus, Captain.”

“Strackna, draw our screens back to hull plus one.”

“Retreat screens, Captain? Hull plus one?”

“Screens at hull plus one. Screens at hull plus one.”

“But—”

“That's a boarding party, Major. They're not about to fry their own, which means they either don't have penetrating lasers or particle beams or tacheads, or that they don't want to use them. Blast their boarding party and Istvenn knows what they'll do.”

“Batteries on full. Stand by to fire!” ordered Strackna.

Gerswin could see Lieutenant Harsna's mouth drop open, and the look of disbelief in Relyea's face.

Gerswin stabbed his own overrides.

“This is the captain. Negative the last. All batteries stand down. All batteries stand down.”

No sooner had he finished the statement than he dove off the command couch like a hawk toward the Exec's station.

“Stand by! Stand by—!”

Thud!

Gerswin's shoulder knocked the Executive Officer away from her console. His hands flashed twice.

Then he stood up abruptly and touched the vacated console.

“All batteries stand down. I say again. All batteries stand down.”

“Standing down. Standing down.”

“Lieutenant Harsna!”

“Yes, ser.”

“As of this instant, you are acting Exec. Have Major Strackna confined to quarters and a guard posted. She is relieved until further notice.”

Gerswin ignored the collective sigh that crossed the bridge and checked the figure lying on the deck. Strackna, unconscious, was breathing evenly, and had no obvious injuries.

“Estimate plus eight for arrival of alien boarding party.”

“Get my suit ready, Riid. My suit and a scooter.”

“Captain…do you think that is wise?” That was Relyea, the senior tech.

“If I'm wrong, and if the aliens blast me, or if I don't return within a standard week, then you can release Major Strackna with my posthumous apologies. Until then, Lieutenant Harsna will be acting Captain.”

“You're not leaving the ship?”

“You must have a reason, Captain,” said Harsna slowly.

“I do, Harsna. I do. Too many people lost their lives unnecessarily in the last great Imperial adventure. Some were close to me. These aliens aren't a threat now, and they may never be one.

“If I'm right…well…you'll see. Guns! Have a spare tachead?”

“Not spare, Captain. But we have one.”

“What's the closest point at which a detonation is safe for those aliens? Assume our metabolism and no suit shields.”

“I wouldn't recommend any closer than a thousand kays, and that's probably too close.”

“All right, set one for two to two point five straight out. Ninety from the orbit station. Launch when ready.”

“Plus one from launch, Captain.”

“Five plus for alien arrival.”

Gerswin nodded.

“Suit ready, Riid?”

“Ready, Captain.”

“As soon as we get a burst on the tachead, I'll be down. Have the scooter ready.”

“Yes, ser.”

“You think the tachead will awe them?” asked Harsna.

“No, but their techs will note torp speed and burst size. Shortly it might dawn on them that we possess the power to pulverize their system. That won't awe them at all, I suspect, but it should make them cautious.”

“Tachead away! Tachead away!”

For the miniature jumpshift of the torp, two thousand kays amounted to an instantaneous burst.

For an instant, a second sun flared far behind the
Fleurdilis
.

Gerswin did not wait for the light to fade, but headed for the main lock, and the suit that waited for him.

“Plus three to alien arrival.”

Now all he had to do was survive and return before an entire week passed.

“Confident, aren't you?” he muttered as he swung into the armorer's bay.

“Suit's here, Captain,” Riid said quietly.

Gerswin repressed a smile.

Riid had ignored the letter of his order, instead had readied one of the five Imperial Marine Marauder suits, obviously previously tailored for Gerswin without his knowledge.

“Feedback circuits might be rough, Captain, but you're not going without the best I can do.”

“Appreciate it, Riid. Appreciate it.”

He reached across to the console. “Bridge, Captain here. Harsna, bulge the screens a little, and push them back gently for a couple of minutes. Soon as I'm clear of the lock, drop the screens and reform them right on the hull itself. Understand?”

“Stet. You need the time, and we'll reform behind you. Major Strackna's under restraint. No problem.”

“Thanks.”

Gerswin devoted his energies to getting installed inside the armor.

It could be a damned-fool idea, but he owed something to Martin, and to Faith, and to the poor, unsuspecting aliens. And this was the best he could come up with on short notice, the best possible with an obsolete cruiser that the Empire would have preferred as a martyr to Imperial expansion.

Not that any devilkid, even one who now wore the insignia of an Imperial Senior Commander, intended to submit to martyrdom, inadvertent or otherwise.

He grinned behind the suit's face screen. All the years of practice in esoteric and often theoretically obsolete weapons just might prove useful in the official line of duty. Official line of duty—wonderful phrase.

Absently he wondered if Martin had felt the same inane relief at the thought of action and the ability to use long-sharpened skills. Had his son felt the same way on that day so many years earlier? He could feel the sweat beading on his forehead. Martin certainly hadn't wanted to be hero or martyr, any more than his father now did.

“Are you subconsciously out to avoid the duty Caroljoy laid on you?” The words were low, addressed only to himself.

“What's that, Captain?”

“Muttering to myself, Riid.”

He wanted to wipe his damp forehead with the back of his hand. He settled for rubbing it against the suit's sweat pad.

Besides, Caroljoy hadn't forced him to do anything. Just made it possible to follow his own expressed dream.

Dream?

He pushed away the question, refocused his eyes on the suit's internal indicators, and steeled his thoughts on the encounter ahead.