“Most assuredly, young sirs. Action against pirates is. Looting wrecked freighter indications are. In sector blue twelve, between jump points Zennum 35 and Soenda 3, near Rim,” Tziksis quoted into the silence. “
Ziangka
is to make all haste to aid freighter and deal with pirates.”
The wardroom echoed to excited cheers. “Action at last. I was getting stale with all this routine,” admitted one of Steg’s companions. All thoughts of relaxation were discarded as an intense discussion began, covering everything from possible tactics to the more interesting topic of prize money.
The rumor was soon confirmed with an announcement. “All hands. Amber alert. All off-duty leisure activities are suspended until further notice. Duty officers and crew for boarding cutters report at thirteen hundred hours, briefing room Damocles.”
The excitement was almost tangible as the three lieutenants, assigned to the boarding cutters, prepared for their briefing. Tziksis busied himself with a multitude of preparations; the majority, if not all of which were unnecessary. Steg’s weapons pack was taken out and the contents carefully examined, cleaned and polished. Imaginary specks of dust were painstakingly brushed off his combat uniforms and Ebony received the most meticulous attention as Tziksis polished and polished it again. At last he was satisfied.
“Oh youth, everything ready is.”
“Tziksis, the sword is not suitable. Remember, I am attached to one of the boarding cutters as navigator and second officer, acting relief pilot. I am unlikely to see any action, let alone engage with any pirates.”
The briefing room held a group of officers and marines, most of whom Steg had not met before. The briefing officer indicated he had only a minimum of detail.
“We are about to penetrate the s-t fold that will align us with Zennum 35. We have intelligence that pirates are attacking a class twenty freighter which has some minor defensive ability. The pirates have two relatively small ships, estimated as five thousand tonners, supported by a larger ship, estimated to mass twenty thousand tons. We will enter the system near the jump point; we’ll be fully cloaked. Intelligence has not identified the pirates—we do not know who they are or where their base is located. However, a number of attacks have occurred in this region, probably by the same group, suspected to be Xesset. Updates will be available on screens as they become available. Crew allocations have been posted.”
The meeting broke into partially controlled chaos as the audience gathered around viewscreens in an attempt to gain and absorb details that were more than sketchy. Officers and crew eagerly availed of the opportunity to relieve the boredom of training with the promise of real action. Steg checked his team allocation and went to find his cutter pilot.
“Ross reporting, sir.”
“Hello, Ross—oh, you are new. Aah, you’re the fellow we had to rescue from the Imps. That must have been an interesting experience?” He did not wait for an answer. “It appears they are mixing us old veterans with young blood.” Steg doubted the age gap was more than two years. “Any experience at all?”
“In-system solar wave racing, shuttle pilot—lots of that—and some cutter command time—about a hundred hours. Lots of in-system nav. No combat experience though, sir.” He did not mention that with his crew, he had set a record for speed and endurance in Homeworld solar wave racing competitions, nor that his technique for solar wave surfing was now taught to all Homeworld racing teams.
“Cut the ’sir’. I am only a pilot officer—one rung above you. Cat to my friends because they think I have nine lives. Mistaken. Used ten or more, already. Have you studied the sparse details?”
“Yes, sir—Cat.” Steg considered the pilot to be the most uncatlike person he was ever likely to encounter. He was tall and gangly, his uniform fitting his long frame with utmost difficulty. Twinkling grey eyes belied his somber aspect and complemented his assured mien. The row of combat ribbons on his shirt indicated the depth of his experience.
“Let’s study it again. Intelligence will continue to make updates as they receive new data.” He sat at a vacant workstation and Steg took the adjacent seat. Cat operated the keyboard with practiced ease. “Team first. Me, approaching 200 cutter missions. You, zero missions. Pilot ratings. Highly rated astro, that’s good to see. And very good training reports. Well done. Now the Greens.” At Steg’s blank expression he clarified. “Marines. The captain is very good; Captain John Silver—we call him Long John—we’ve been teamed up before. The two junior lieutenants are new, good training, no battle experience. The team has mixed experience. As I suspected, they are mixing old and new. Hello, that’s odd. One of the Specials, see? I know him. Interesting, he’s the first one I’ve seen in a long time. Very interesting.” He drawled out the last phrase.
“I thought we had some on board.”
“Every ship has, at some time or other. They are a law unto themselves. They account to no one, not even to the skipper. Probably not even to a Fleet admiral. Never, but never, tackle a Special; they are mean, deadly people. Never trust them, they usually have double or triple layers of objectives and motives. OK, let’s see if we have any updates. Later we can work through some simulation runs, once we have some more reliable and detailed data.”
Steg was pleased to have a mentor take him through the details and sat with an unbegrudging patience and total concentration as the cutter pilot walked him through their assignment. He studied every step as Cat called up the data on the screen.
“Watch—we can review the different probability paths? Over there,” Cat tapped the screen. “Those events are too time distant to have a high probability factor attached, it’s just a mess. As we get closer to the target and obtain more specific, accurate data, the different probability paths will strengthen or weaken, some disappearing altogether as assumptions are eliminated or refined. The system is using analytical data from prior raids and sorties as a basis for these probability extraps. All very simple, and possibly totally misleading. At the moment the calculated prognosis is extremely favorable. But if we assume the three ships are Xesset, and they move to a defense/attack gambit instead of retreating, everything changes. Watch, I’ll show you.”
Steg followed the pilot’s step-by-step instructions intently as the colored simulation blanked and re-displayed, building and changing, layer by layer.
“See? Totally different result. Seventy percent losses on our part, instead of less than five percent. OK, the larger ship is destroyed; however, the two smaller units escape.” Cat wiped the simulation. “We won’t know for a few hours which way things will run. Go and prep the cutter, I’ll be along once I’ve had a chat with the Greens.”
The pilot ambled leisurely away, leaving Steg bemused and not a little impressed. The pilot had no nerves at all, he concluded, or else had been on so many missions they now warranted little or no concern. Steg hoped the pilot’s confidence was real, as he headed to carry out pre-launch checks.
Steg climbed through the cutter’s entry hatch and made his way forward to the flight deck. Here too, all exterior views were communicated by large viewscreens that stretched across and around the cockpit. He sat at the astrogator’s workstation and brought the displays online. He then proceeded to key in routine checks and run validation processes, which completed without error. Then, urged by an inconscient pressure and without reflection, he attempted direct contact with
Ziangka’
s
computer system.
*Steg de Coeur to Module
Ziangka
. Please acknowledge.*
*Input security clearance.*
The heavy resonance of the ship’s system took Steg unawares. He paused for a moment and then responded with a wild guess.
*Security clearance provided by Castlehome Glass Complex. Confirm.*
Again the heavy resonance battered at his senses. *Running.*
*Instructions follow. Run when authority confirmed. Activate navigator’s workstation on cutter Delta Three and display current risk analysis. Do not log or report instructions entered by this operator. *
*Instructions held.*
*Security clearance confirmed. Running instruction.*
To Steg’s surprise the Glass Complex had subverted the Imperial star ship’s system. Somehow the Complex was able to communicate with
Ziangka
’s system in almost real time, across the space-time gap. He studied the display intently as the navigator’s screen lit up and the display built, layer by layer. The results had not changed markedly from the earlier analysis.
*Vary input parameters this workstation only. Run with assumptions target ships are Xesset and on sighting
Ziangka
they move into defense/attack configuration. Display result.*
Steg watched with careful interest as the screen blanked and the revised simulation built up, step by step. Again, the results matched those produced by Cat.
*Modify program. Do not blank out display on change of input variables; instead, replace with changes only. Now vary assumptions. Assume full retreat instead of defense/attack gambit.*
The display changed again, without the characteristic initial blanking of the screen. The response seemed to be faster. Steg examined the results; the losses were very light although the Xesset ships escaped. He continued to work, revising and reviewing input assumptions and scenarios. Completely absorbed in the rapidly changing displays, he did not hear the approach or realize the presence of a suddenly interested observer.
“That is quite an achievement, de Coeur.”
Steg barely controlled his start of surprise as he hit the disconnect key. He turned to face the intruder and offered a correction. “My name is Ross. Stephen Ross.”
“And I’m the Emperor of Old
Ziangka
,” came the surprising reply. The speaker was a complete stranger. He was dressed in a mottled gray and white uniform; it lacked rank insignia and company colors. He stood in the flight deck entrance, filling the space most effectively. Steg felt his apprehension grow and unobtrusively sought a weapon in case the stranger attacked. “Your name may be recorded as Ross,” the speaker continued. “But you are a de Coeur. To be precise, you are Steg de Coeur. Stephen Ross does not exist; rather some seemingly very genuine records have been inserted into various systems. I know, because I checked in some depth.”
“Who are you?” Steg tried to reach for the red panic button that would bring Cat and the complement of marines in a rush, but his arm was gripped and held. He did not struggle.
“Now, you have no need to create a panic.”
*Steg de Coeur to Module
Ziangka
. Please identify intruder on cutter Delta Three.*
*Intruder is properly authorized. Unable to provide name, rank or other data.*
Steg made a rapid assessment. “You have no rank insignia or company colors. You act with some authority. I guess you are one of the Specials?”
“Very good. I’m also attached to cutter Delta Three,” he confirmed as he released Steg’s arm. “I am very interested in you, de Coeur.” Again Steg was moved to protest but the intruder raised a silencing hand. “Now don’t be bothersome. We both know I’m correct. But let’s revert to my first observation—that is quite an achievement. I know the Castlehome Acolytes are able to communicate directly with their computer complex—what do they call it? Yes, the Glass Complex.” He smiled with satisfaction at the expression on Steg’s face. “Oh, we have a good intelligence system, too. However, the Acolytes need surgical implants. They are, in effect, wired for the job. That requires major surgery, and reflects extreme dedication on the part of the Acolyte, I think. However, in your case, you are remarkably intact, with no surgical wiring.”
Steg attempted a denial. “I really don’t know what you are talking about.”
“Come now. I was watching you at the workstation. Set after set of variables entered and not one key touched. If I’m not mistaken, you applied a small program modification as well. I daresay if I checked the log it will show nothing?” Steg nodded. “I thought so. Well, my friend, we must have this out before this cutter lifts off the deck because I have one hell of an idea. What do you need from me to ensure your cooperation?”
“If you know enough to claim I’m a de Coeur, you should be able to define my needs?”
“That stupid woman? Oh, we will find some way of helping the de Coeurs re-establish their rights.” Steg’s face clearly expressed his doubts and the stranger continued. “OK. I may be only a major but in the Specials that just about outranks an admiral in this Navy. Here, let me at that workstation.”
Steg now was firmly of the opinion the man was unstoppable. He knew he’d erred in permitting someone to witness the series of simulation displays generated without any direct keyboard input. His carelessness could prove to be expensive. He watched as the stranger entered a string of codes, far too rapidly to identify.
“Now, de Coeur, this confirms my identity. Of course you don’t have the equipment to carry out a retina check but at least it covers the basics.”
He moved out of the way to permit Steg to study the details, which were exceptionally brief. “Major Denke,” he acknowledged.
“Just Denke. Specials don’t worry about rank, as you’ll learn. We answer to whoever can get the task done. Now, are we going to cooperate, work together on this idea of mine?”