Dark Running (Fourth Fleet Irregulars Book 4) (89 page)

‘Oh. Well,
given
the choice, I would rather decline, frankly,’ Alex admitted. ‘My feeling is that the Heron is just about as big as we can go while still retaining the unity and focus of a really strong team where we all know one another. A bigger ship, even with open comms…’ he shook his head, dubiously. ‘I don’t know if we could make that work, at least, not as well as we’re working already.’

‘Exactly what I said!’ Dix told him, with considerable satisfaction, and in answer to Alex’s enquiring look, ‘There was major pressure at Sub-Committee level – the waiting list for high flyer secondment has topped ten years at your current ability to take people on, and as was quite rightly pointed out, at that rate, people will have retired before they get the chance to serve with you. I am looking at alternatives, of course, including another high-funded unit with unlimited training opportunities, but there is a strong feeling, high up, that we should also increase your capacity. I’m pleased to tell you that I
did
win the argument over you being given a thunderstar – and just as pleased to tell you that I managed to persuade them to agree to your having a second ship, instead.’

‘Ah,’ Alex said, and picked up his coffee before giving the First Lord a shrewd look. ‘
But…
?’ he prompted.

‘Okay,’ Dix gave him a look which combined apology with amusement. ‘The second ship will be the Minnow.’

Alex continued to gaze at him, waiting. The corvette Minnow had been his own first command, and had itself been extensively upgraded during the years he’d been its skipper. Being given back his old ship was
good
news, and in no way accounted for the bad news vibe he was getting from the other officer. It felt like a brick suspended right over his head by a very thin thread. ‘Under Skipper Alington’s command,’ Dix said, and with that, the brick dropped.

Alex sipped his coffee again, saying nothing at all.

‘Sorry.’ Said Dix, and it was clear that he did mean that. ‘I know you’re not friends. But that can’t be a consideration in professional decisions, Alex. And this
is
my call, okay, not something from the Sub-Committee. I have to look at the bigger picture. You
know
how much the tagged and flagged programme costs, both in terms of funding and in the opportunities which are given to people on that scheme and therefore denied to other officers. By the time we get an officer to command rank the investment we’ve put into them both financially and professionally is
massive
. I am not prepared to abandon all that, in Harry Alington’s case, just because he was out of his depth on his first operation.

‘I know, I said myself at the time that I didn’t want to hear that he was young, on his first command, and facing overwhelming media hostility – if I remember rightly, I even commented that none of that had thrown you off
your
game. But in retrospect, I recognise, I really wasn’t being fair. He
isn’t
you, and expecting him to handle things the way you did is unreasonable. And I do have to take some responsibility as well. I knew, really, that he wouldn’t be up to it if things went badly wrong for him out there, but I allowed myself to be persuaded that it would be a character-forming, valuable experience for him.’

He didn’t say who had persuaded him, but then, he didn’t have to. Harry Alington had told Alex himself that it had been Terrible Tennet who’d asked for him to be assigned to Karadon, after he’d made some derogatory comments about Alex during a dinner party. It would, she had said, be good experience for him to find out the difference between scoring an A on a command school assignment and pulling off real operations. In theory, it should have been something he could handle, too, requiring little more than a sociable manner.

Unfortunately, Harry Alington had managed to flunk that mission every which way. He had alienated the merchant spacers he was meant to be forming useful contacts with, annoyed the Customs and Excise people he was supposed to be collaborating with, and ultimately offended the management of Karadon so much they’d banned him from the station. From
his
perspective, however, the biggest disaster of the mission was his own catastrophic collision with the media. Just as with Alex, there’d been a misunderstanding – in Skipper Alington’s case, due to his blithe burbling about the fraternity of the Sixty Four, which had led the media pack on Karadon to believe that they’d discovered a secret inner-circle within the Admiralty, a secret society which was actually running the Fleet from within.

‘He deserves another chance,’ said Dix, with a subtle subtext there of ‘I
owe
him another chance.’ ‘And since second chances are what the Fourth is all about, and I do believe that with some mentoring and more operational experience…’

He caught Alex’s eye, broke off, and grinned.

‘Okay,’ he said, abandoning the diplomatic version, there. ‘Bottom line, then. He is going to make flag rank, Alex, regardless – it isn’t even a question of influence, it’s just realism. To take him off tagged and flagged for messing up at Karadon would rip massive divisions through the Fleet, particularly as there are a lot of people who suspect that either he messed up there because he was trying to be you and couldn’t do it, or because you undermined him in some way. Either way, you
don’t
want it to be felt that involvement with you has cost another officer his career, do you?’

Alex was much struck by that – the fact that Admiral Vickers had resigned his commission for unspecified personal reasons was something he still felt sensitive about, and even obscurely responsible for, no matter how many times he was told that he wasn’t. Amongst the Fleet and wider spacer community it was generally assumed that the admiral had developed a drinking problem. The truth was a lot worse, embarrassing for all concerned and politically toxic. It wasn’t a drinking problem he had, it was an anger problem … anger of such intense rage and loathing that it had affected his professional judgement; anger directed with venomous ferocity at one Alexis Sean von Strada.

‘No, of course not,’ Alex said, and knew, as he considered that, that no matter how he felt about Harry Alington personally, he would do his utmost to help him. ‘I just have to ask – does he
want
to serve with the Fourth?’

‘I think
want
might be putting it a bit high,’ Dix admitted, cautiously. ‘We might go with ‘is prepared to’. But the point is, realistically, I can’t pull him off tagged and flagged over this, and that means he
will
reach flag rank within a few years. So there are two ways that can go, as I see it. Either we let him fall back into homeworld squadron postings, knowing very well what kind of admiral he’d be by the time he got into HQ, or we push him out there to learn front line operations from the best taskforce commander we’ve got. So, bottom line, you’re to train him up in ops skills and give him the experience he needs to achieve his full potential. Think of it like a rehab posting.’

As Alex opened his mouth to protest, Dix held up a hand, grinning, ‘I know, I know! You can’t change other people, only support them in changing themselves – you
may
have mentioned your views on that, once or twice!’

Alex grinned back, conceding the point.

‘Well, ops are quite broadening, in themselves,’ he observed, which got a nod of approval from Dix.

‘Exactly,’ he said, and with an air of being about to give Alex an award, ‘and I think you’ll enjoy your next mission.’ He held the moment, tantalisingly, but seeing that Alex wasn’t going to rise to it, gave in. ‘You’re going on law enforcement operations – hunting pirates.’ Another pause. ‘In Sector Seventeen.’

Alex stared at him for the several seconds it took him to be sure that Dix Harangay was serious. Then he started to laugh.

‘Oi!’ said the First Lord, grinning, himself, but pointing a stern finger at the captain. ‘If the words
Space Monster
cross your lips, now or at any time during these operations, I will put you in front of a media call for open question time.’

The tone he gave that threat made it sound like
will put you in front of a firing squad
, and jokey as it was, Alex recognised that there was a serious issue there. The Space Monster of Sector Seventeen had been a legend amongst spacers for centuries. If the Admiralty was actually to admit that they were sending a task force out there to look for it, even the Fleet would fall about laughing.

‘You may, if you need to talk about it at all,’ Dix told him, ‘refer to it as the Phenomenon. And you will uphold the official position, there, that glimpses of the Phenomenon in Sector Seventeen are down to dirty space, glitching scopes or rampant imagination,
yes
?’

‘Understood,’ Alex said, though there was still a broad grin on his face.

‘Your job is to confirm that,’ Dix said, then, after a slight but significant pause, ‘or not, as the case may be. Either way, you’re to investigate the area of most frequent sightings and take whatever action you feel to be appropriate. You’ll get your orders and full briefing for that after your leave. In the meantime, this is strictly between us.’ He gestured back and forth between the two of them, and Alex smiled acknowledgement. His eyes were brightening, not just with amusement but with excitement. Whatever the Phenomenon in Sector Seventeen might turn out to be, investigating it would be as much fun as it was professionally challenging. Dix was quite right; he was going to enjoy this.

‘And for right now,’ Dix said, breaking into a grin, himself, ‘I want to hear
everything
about Samart, Alex.’ He already had Alex’s reports – from the precis briefing which had enabled them to respond so quickly to the arrival of the Samartian delegation, to the enormously full report compiled by all the officers and quite a number of the crew. Alex understood, though, that what he was asking for, here, was not an official report, but a personal account, satisfying the First Lord’s own burning and slightly envious curiosity. ‘Come on!’ Dix commanded. ‘Give!’

So Alex sat forward, collected his thoughts, and started to talk.

*
*
*

While Alex was still aboard the Affinity station, the Heron was receiving an unexpected visitor. Third Lord Admiral Cerdan Jennar was exercising his right to visit any Fleet ship. He had not gone so far as to make it an official visit of inspection, because the terms of the Fourth’s constitution meant that he would have had to have the First Lord’s consent to carry out an Internal Affairs inspection, but he was making the most of what he could get away with under the guise of a ‘social’ visit.

Buzz had no choice, professionally, other than to welcome the Third Lord at the airlock with all due ceremony, offer him refreshment in the wardroom and invite him to tour the ship. The tour was just as much a routine courtesy as the offer of wardroom hospitality, but it was obvious to all of them that Cerdan Jennar was looking at everything and everyone with searching, critical eyes.

He found nothing on which he could make adverse comment. The ship had been sparkled in expectation that the President or First Lord might come aboard and everyone was faultlessly professional, knowing that the Evil Eye was upon them. It wasn’t until they got to Mess Deck Four that he found anything to criticise. And there, his eye fixed upon Ali Jezno.

Ali was seated at one of the mess deck tables along with several other off-duty crew. None of them got to their feet, as Fleet protocol was for them to remain quietly seated during VIP tours. Cerdan Jennar, however, homed in on Ali.

‘
Why
is that man wearing probationer’s pips along with petty officer insignia?’

It was a valid question, in itself – bizarre to Fleet eyes, the two insignia were contradictory. Alex had approved it, though, as there was no established Fleet insignia for a member of crew who was aboard ship whilst on long term medical rehab. It was meant to indicate that while he retained his rank of petty officer, he was not expected to be working with that degree of responsibility.

Before Buzz could explain that, though, Ali Jezno got to his feet, saluting smartly.

‘Special insignia for the Living Dead, sir,’ he said.

Cerdan Jennar swelled visibly, his chest inflating with outrage.

‘Mr Jezno.’ Buzz’s reproof was firm, though it would not have taken any great percipience to see the twinkle in his eyes. ‘Inappropriate, dear boy,’ he said, and turned to the Third Lord, explaining, ‘Petty Officer Jezno is under medical care, sir, having suffered serious brain injuries during our operations.’

‘Then he should be off the ship!’ Cerdan Jennar said, and, again, he had a point, since Fleet policy would indeed normally have been for Ali Jezno to be discharged from the ship as soon as it came into port.

Before Buzz could begin to explain that Ali would be taking medical leave, soon, but that his rehab actually required him to be aboard the ship, re-engaging with his life there, Simon Penarth came flitting down a nearby companionway and strode across to join them.

‘Hey!’ he said, ‘leave that man alone!’

Cerdan Jennar’s attention was successfully diverted. He stared incredulously at the man with the unkempt hair and scruffy jeans.

‘Who do you think you are, to …’

‘Me?’ Simon cut in, with an unholy gleam in his eyes. ‘I’ll
tell
you who I am. Simon Penarth, Professor Emeritus, Neurosurgery, Chartsey SU. PhD Neurosurgery, PhD General Medicine, PhD Exobiology, PhD Microbiology, PhD Psychology, PhD Genetics, Visiting Professor at nine universities and with Consultant rights in hospitals across fourteen worlds. I am without doubt the most highly qualified doctor you will ever be in a room with and I am also, by the way, a stone cold stonking genius. So
you
, Mr Jennar…’ a finger stabbed at the admiral’s chest and only
just
held back from giving him a poke, ‘will
leave my patient alone
.’

Cerdan Jennar, however, was not so easily intimidated. His colour was rising, but his chest stuck out even more prominently as he sucked in air.