Dark Running (Fourth Fleet Irregulars Book 4) (26 page)

He answered, with that, some startled looks around the table. The Stepeasy’s tender was one of the more remarkable features of the dart-class design, an intersystem yacht in its own right, carried within a hangar bay on the ship’s belly. It was extremely fast and very agile, able to compete even with their fighters. With Davie himself at the helm, in fact, it could even keep up with Shion piloting Firefly. ‘My brief to the Dart design team was to base the tender on a Thorn. The prototype, civilian version doesn’t have serious weaponry but the version being built for the Fleet certainly does.’

He had been nine years old when he had founded Vetrix Shipbuilding and commissioned the Dart class of starship. It was his contribution, his first contribution, to the service and protection of the League his family had been dedicated to for over two thousand years.

‘I do not, surely, have to spell out the benefit of combat exercise training with a Marfikian-style attack ship, in preparation for the possibility of being caught in their space by a
real
Marfikian patrol?’ Davie glanced around, and saw that he did not need to labour the point further. He looked back at Alex. ‘Blank fire, of course. But full immersion drills. And to give it some edge, a prize for the winner – losing ship gives the winner a case of ice cream?’

Alex looked at Buzz, who smiled and nodded at once, and then at Commander Martine Fishe. She had the unenviable duty of being their designated Internal Affairs officer, a role she would be passing on to Jonas Sartin once his month of transfer training was complete. If there was anything in regulations which forbade either the combat drills or the prize, Martine would have to register an objection. She looked up from a quick check of files, though, adding her own nod.

‘Precedent, for both,’ she said. That was always important in the Fleet when considering unorthodox decisions. The fact that something was not specifically forbidden by regulations did not necessarily mean that it was
allowed
, so being able to assert that something similar had already been approved in Fleet records was what IA considered a sound basis for decision.

‘Thank you,’ Alex said, and nodded to Davie, too. ‘Yes. Subject to individual exercise approval, of course, but thank you, Mr North, that’s an excellent suggestion.’

Davie grinned.

‘Okay – finally,’ he said, ‘A technical point. Analysis of what pathetic information the Diplomatic Corps provided indicates that the Samartians are believed to transmit comms using a base-four coding system using spectrum shift and analogue transmission. Our arrays use binary, white light and digital, of course. So, just to confirm, you won’t have a problem upgrading and reprogramming your array, no?’

Alex looked at Martine Fishe again – the comms department also fell within her remit.

‘I should think we’ll manage,’ she said, and glancing over the technical specifications Davie had just put on the table, looked thoughtful at the high speed required. ‘We may need to be a bit nippy with changing the light bulbs.’

Davie gave her an affronted look but then as everyone else laughed, so did he. His manner had indeed been rather patronising, and merited the teasing retort. Martine grinned at him, too, putting a tick on the specs and giving a nod to confirm that they would, indeed, be achievable, though it would take considerable effort and some innovation.

‘Thank you.’ Davie said, then looked back at Alex and tossed him a playful little salute which conveyed that he’d said all he wanted to, for now. Alex gave him an appreciative look, fully aware that Davie was exercising remarkable self-discipline, there. He was learning to be a team player, even when the other members of the team were agonisingly slow by his standards.

He demonstrated that again, too, later in the day. Alex saw him at work in the brig. That had to be frustrating for him in so many ways – Alex would still not allow him to get hands on with tech work, holding firmly to his rule that he could not do tech work till he was sixteen. He wasn’t allowed to be in a supervisory role over crew, either, with no authority to give them orders. So he just had to step aside, while far less qualified and able officers took charge of his project, directing techs who were stripping things out in about a tenth of the time Davie could have done it himself. Alex could have understood it, really, if Davie had been hovering, fretful, urging them on.

As it was, he not only stepped aside with very good grace, but helped out cheerfully in the only way he
was
allowed to. He was actually working as Mako Ireson’s assistant, making notes and ticking checklists as the LPA inspector supervised the disassembling of the brig. Mako himself had no idea about the technical work involved. He was merely seeing all the brig’s facilities packed up and put into storage, starting with the toiletries in the showers and moving on to the bunks, lockers and showers themselves. Before long the techs were removing doors, stripping out lights and security systems. Within hours, the place was a shell, doorless empty cabins surrounding an echoing space. They would take down the walls and begin the rather longer process of refitting it to Davie’s specifications the following day, but for today, as Davie said, they were just de-brigging it.

Mako duly signed confirmation that he was happy with that, relinquishing all the LPA’s rights over the space that had been theirs. There would be a great deal of argument and even more paperwork about that when they got back to port, but Mako was more than happy to leave that problem till then.

Alex met with Professor Penarth later that day. There was some surprise amongst the crew when he came aboard; Rangi had been talking very enthusiastically about his genius, the number of doctorates he held, his prestige in both academic and medical communities, the surgeries he’d pioneered and his many publications. The one thing he hadn’t thought to mention was that Simon was only twenty seven years old.

He was, of course, the product of a Gifted Child Institute, identified as having genius IQ by the age of two and spending the rest of his childhood in the care of a GCI. Like Kate Naos and any other Gifted Child, he had been attending university by the time he was ten. He looked rather like a student, even now, coming aboard for his meeting with the captain in baggy kneed jeans and a sloppy sweatshirt with a cartoon dog motif. His hair was shaggy, too, obviously not cut for months and even then in no more sophisticated style than ‘lop it off so it’s not in my eyes.’ He was carrying a cake container, which aroused some interest.

‘Hey, Simon,’ Davie came up the ladderway as the medic was being escorted onto the command deck, hijacking the introductions as he presented him to Alex. ‘Simon Penarth, Captain von Strada.’

‘Evenin’’,’ Simon said, giving Alex an interested, evaluating look, and with that, an equally casual, ‘Hey, Davie,’ in response to his employer.

‘Professor Penarth,’ Alex greeted him courteously, and got up. It was apparent from his manner that Davie was assuming that he would be part of this meeting. ‘Please – come through to the daycabin,’ Alex invited, and with a cool look at Davie, added an obvious dismissal, ‘Thank you, Mr North.’

‘Hah!’ Davie took no offence, but answered, startlingly, stabbing an accusing finger at the captain, ‘Just
don’t
get any ideas about headhunting him.’ Then he looked at the medic and spoke sternly to him, too. ‘And don’t you forget who you work for.’

‘On your airbike,’ said Simon, grinning as he evidently recognised this as a joke. ‘You pay me, you don’t own me.’

‘Well,’ Davie persisted, ‘at least if he makes you an offer, promise you’ll give me the chance to better it.’

‘Get stuffed,’ said the League’s most highly qualified neurosurgeon. ‘I will consider any offers I like, whenever I like, without reference to you or anybody else.’ His tone was good humoured, even amused, but it was clear that he meant it.

Davie grinned at Alex.

‘I can’t
imagine
why people think he’s a difficult employee, can you?’

Alex grinned too, understanding that Davie had triggered that exchange deliberately, making a point. Alex’s first concern, here, as Davie knew very well, would be to ensure that Simon really was genuinely volunteering to come with them and not agreeing to do so merely because his employer told him to or because he’d been offered stonking amounts of cash. That, of course, was why Alex wanted to talk to the medic without Davie present.

He still did so, naturally, and was careful to ensure that Simon understood not just the risks he would be taking in coming with them now, but the long term consequences there might be if it came out that he had worked with them.

‘We had to admit to having Kate Naos aboard, at Karadon,’ he explained. ‘We had a kids’ event aboard and one of them recognised her. You can’t ask kids to keep secrets like that, it’s not fair, so we did have to make a statement to the media confirming that she was with us, working on a classified research project. She took some stick for it at the time, with the media at Karadon, but she walked right into it when she got back to Chartsey.’

‘Yes, I know,’ Simon told him. ‘Katie and I have been mates for years – hothouse kids usually are, you know? So yes, I know, they did the Maths Kid thing at her again, and she had some hassle from nutters.’

Kate had been targeted by student activists, outraged by her association with the infamous Fourth. They had staged a student demo, occupying the astrophysics building where she worked, protesting against faculty involvement with a military unit which had such a record for ‘evil human rights abuse’.

‘She’s told me she’s joining the Fleet, too,’ Simon went on. ‘They’ve accepted her for the next Academy entry, you know.’

‘I do know, yes,’ Alex said. He had given Kate a letter of recommendation; not that she’d needed it, given her academic standing. He hadn’t been surprised to get a letter from her confirming that the Fleet had given her an immediate acceptance. They had offered to waive her through first year training on the grounds of her existing qualifications, but Kate had declined. As she’d said to Alex herself, she had a lot to learn about the interpersonal skills of becoming an officer. The biggest criticism levelled at GCI’s was the very narrow lives the kids led, nothing like a normal childhood and often very poor social skills as a result.

‘I
didn’t
headhunt her, you know,’ Alex assured Simon. ‘It wouldn’t have occurred to me to do so, and I wouldn’t, anyway – it would be just totally out of order, that, unethical, to be pressuring a passenger. And she’s not, obviously, coming to serve with
us
, she’ll be transferred to the Second as soon as she graduates. But you can rest assured, professor, you certainly won’t come under any pressure here to join the Fleet yourself.’

Simon grinned. ‘I’d like to see you try,’ he observed. ‘Military,
not
my thing. But I’m happy to sign the passenger thing, civilian consultant, no problem with that. The only thing I might have a problem with is your nix-frat rule – no girlfriends,’ he clarified. ‘Months without a girlfriend, that’s
harsh
. How do you guys cope with that?’

Alex laughed. ‘I’m probably not the best person to ask,’ he admitted. ‘I don’t date, anyway. But you’ll find that spacers generally are very self-controlled in that regard. There are exceptions, obviously, and it’s quite common for married people to serve on freighters together, but on the whole it’s understood, deeply rooted in spacer culture, that you don’t get romantically involved with shipmates. There is nothing more destructive to the camaraderie aboard a ship than firing up those kinds of feelings – dating, breaking up, being stuck on a ship with your ex... trust me on this, the intensifying effect of being on a tiny ship out in deep space makes for domestics that
nobody
would want to live with. So we keep it cool aboard ship, keep it to shipmates and friends. Of course, even in the Fleet everyone knows when members of the crew have a thing for each other, and whatever they may get up to on shoreleave is entirely their affair. But that is
discreet
, okay, off the ship, and we do ask passengers to comply with that while they are with us. If that really is going to be an issue for you, though...’

‘Oh, I’ll cope,’ said Simon. ‘It’ll be an interesting experience, being celibate for a while.’ He grinned. ‘One of the up-sides to being a genius,’ he observed, ‘is that it is a total babe-magnet. I’ve been married a few times, too, but it didn’t work out. I mean, so many gorgeous, admiring women – who could resist? But I will, I promise,’ he put his hand on his heart, ‘behave like a monk while I’m here.’ He was clearly taking it for granted that Alex would allow him to stay. ‘Just two conditions there, on my side – one, call me Simon, two, let me bake.’ He opened the container he’d brought, and offered it to Alex, encouragingly. ‘Go on, try one – they’re fondant fancies.’

They looked pretty; lemon fondant drizzled with white icing, but no fancier than the kinds of dehydrate cake they already had in the hold.

‘Oh, I don’t need to...’ Alex demurred, feeling that it would be rather discourteous to be testing the very highly qualified medic on his prowess as a cake-maker.

‘Go on!’ Simon insisted, and since it was clear that it mattered to him, Alex took a fancy, gave a polite smile and bit into it.

His expression changed at once, and Simon crowed with triumph.

‘Oh, that’s
good
!’ Alex exclaimed, once he’d swallowed. ‘That’s amazing!’ He surveyed the really very ordinary looking cake, which tasted so sensational. ‘What’s
in
that?’

‘Real vanilla,’ Simon told him, proudly. ‘I have to use dehydrates for main ingredients, of course, but I use organic for flavourings.’

Alex didn’t splutter, but he
did
give Simon an expressive look.

‘Fine by me, but you should tell people before you give them organic,’ he pointed out. Some people would throw up, told they’d eaten something that had grown in dirt, in open air, that
insects
had walked on. ‘Spacers are usually more open to it, adventurous, but you shouldn’t assume.’