To Honor You Call Us (11 page)

“Maneuvering, do you have my ETA to the Bravo jump point yet?”

“Affirmative, sir, coming up now.  Jump point Bravo is just over sixty four AU from our current position.  If we top out at our highest stealthy speed of point five four c, with standard acceleration and deceleration at each end, our transit time is eighteen hours, fifty seven minutes.” 

Even at half the speed of light, a star system covered a lot of real estate.  “CIC to Engineering.”

“Engineering.  Brown here.”

“Werner, I’ve got a question for you.”

“Allow me to hazard a guess.  You want to know whether I trust the compression drive on this ship at low c factors.”

Max was floored.  “I didn’t know mind reading was one of your many abilities.”

“It is not.  But down here in Engineering we do keep a weather eye on the Tactical Repeater and the status monitors, you know.  It’s an obvious question, really.  A typical skipper on a typical mission would cross each of these systems at about half lightspeed and get to our destination in a few weeks.  That same typical skipper would not consider crossing these systems on the compression drive because superluminal travel is illegal in most systems and dangerous at low c multiples because of compression shear.  How am I doing so far?”

“Obviously, you’re doing pretty damn well, Werner.  But, you also know that these particular systems are uninhabited and unclaimed, so there’s no law for us to break.  And, you know that this ship’s got an additional set of compression phase modulators to increase control at lower multiples just so it can do this kind of thing.  That lets us zip around at low superluminal velocities inside a star system, a capability that no one in Known Space has except for maybe the Vaaach.”  And, getting there faster would give Max and the doctor more time to figure out what the Krag were buying, where they were buying it, and where their ships were, not to mention more time on station before he ran out of food and fuel.  “That makes it a realistic option for us.  So, what’s your answer?”

“Captain, I have every confidence in the stability and safety of this drive at anything over six c.  My recommendation, though, is that you do this at ten c.  Ten will give you a good compromise between minimizing shear and not packing on so much velocity that it would be easy to overrun the jump point.  And, even with the extra phase modulators, you need to understand that, while velocity is going to be stable, there will be some unpredictability about the precise equilibrium point.  Ten c might turn out to be anywhere between nine point three and ten point five.”

“Not a problem.  Make whatever preparations you need and notify the XO when you’re ready.  XO, make preparations to traverse this system using the compression drive at ten c.”

“Aye sir,” responded the XO.  “Preparing to make intra-system traverse from present location to jump point Bravo at one-zero-point-zero c.”  The XO started giving orders to Maneuvering, the CIC Engineering Officer, and Deflector Control. 

Max turned to the Sensor Officer.  “Mr. Kasparov, you’re authorized to break EMCON to the extent, and only to the extent, of conducting a narrow beam active scan at high power along our path to the jump point.  We want to make damn sure nothing’s in our way.”  Kasparov acknowledged the order and started talking into his headset.  He was going to let his Back Room set up and execute the scan rather than trying to do it from the more limited set of controls on his console.  Smart move.

It took about a minute.  “Captain, scan along our route to the Bravo jump point is clear.  No ships or obstructions.”

“Very well.  XO, you may take the ship superluminal when ready.”

Garcia sat up straighter in his seat.  “Thank you, sir.  Deflector control, forward deflectors to full, lateral and rear deflectors to cruise.”

“Forward deflectors to full, lateral and rear to cruise, aye.”

“Maneuvering, null main sublight drive and take it to standby.  Take maneuvering thrusters to standby.”

“Null the main sublight and take to standby, maneuvering thrusters to standby, aye,” confirmed the Chief.  He gave the orders to the men at the station in front of him and watched the status lights on his console.  “Main sublight nulled and at standby.  Ship is coasting.  Maneuvering thrusters at standby.  Attitude control by inertial systems only.”

“Prepare to engage compression drive, set c factor for one-zero-point-zero.”

“Aye, sir,” Maneuvering responded.  “C factor one zero point zero.”  Ten times the speed of light.  About three million kilometers per second.  “Green light from Engineering—compression drive is ready for superluminal propulsion.”

“Engage.”

“Engaging.  Compression field forming.  Field is going propulsive.  Speed is zero point seven.  Zero point nine.”  There was a brief, shrill screech as the ship passed through the lightspeed barrier.  As the barrier was known as “Einstein’s Wall,” the sound was unavoidably named “Einstein’s Wail.”  “Ship is now superluminal.  One point five.  Three.  Five.  Eight.  Field reaching equilibrium.  Equilibrium achieved.  Field is propulsive and stable at ten point zero seven c.  Our ETA at jump point Bravo is . . . one hour and forty-nine minutes from now.”

Not bad.  First chance Max got, he would see that Werner got a promotion. 

“Steady as she goes,” said the XO. 

“Good job, XO, everyone,” said Max.  Then, to Garcia, “I’ll be in the Sensor Back Room.” 

The XO said, “Understood, sir.”  The expression on his face, though, said, “Outstanding idea, sir.” 

The Sensor Back Room was around a few corners and down a corridor about ten meters.  Max hit the door control and stepped quietly inside.  No one noticed him in the darkened room because everyone’s attention was focused on two men on the far side of the compartment, their faces lit by sensor displays.  One was screaming and one was cringing.

The screamer, a Lieutenant JG who looked just a little too old for his rank, also looked a little too red in the face for his own good.  “The drive emissions are totally distinctive,” he screeched in a voice that affected Max like fingernails on slate.  “Look at the Doppler on the absorption lines.  When you correct for relative velocity of the two ships, a Greenie could see that the exhaust gas velocity perfectly matches a Banshee.  And look at the emission lines themselves.  Not
there
, fuckhead.  THERE.  THERE.  AND THERE.  What are those?”

The cringer, an Ordinary Spacer 3
^rd
Class, croaked out “Potassium and Cesium?”

“NO, dipshit. 
Sodium
and Cesium.  Standard additives to Union Fighter fuel not used by most other powers.  This Doppler plus these additives give you a solid specident on this contact as Union Fighter.  If another sensor can identify him by another means, we’ve got a dual phenomenology posident and our man in CIC can tell the Skipper what the target is.  Got that, or do I need to repeat myself?” 

The information was correct, but the way it was being delivered certainly did not bear repeating.  “NO.  YOU DON’T,” thundered Max.  “Don’t repeat a God damn word.  You have said
quite enough
,” he continued in a voice that was low but hard and cold and sharp as a boarding cutlass.  “What is your name, Mister?”  Mister was a correct but less than complimentary way to address a Junior Officer.

“Goldman, sir.”  The man’s face was going from red to purple.

“
Mister
Goldman, who is your relief?”

“Ensign Harbaugh, sir.”

Max scanned the room for the person next in rank after Goldman, quickly finding a Chief Petty Officer 1
^st
whose service stripes proclaimed he had been in space long enough to have served with John Glenn and Gordo Cooper.  He was looking at Goldman with poorly-concealed hatred, a look that confirmed the impression Max had already formed of this officer.  “Chief, please tell Ensign Harbaugh by voice comm that he is to report here on my order to take over as senior officer in this compartment.  Immediately.”  The Chief hit a comm button on his console and started talking into his headset. 

“
Mister
Goldman, I’m relieving you as Sensor SSR commander and reducing you in grade to Midshipman Second, both effective immediately.”  Max heard some whispering around the room at that.  He had made an impression.  Good.  He was just getting started.  “And, pack your duffel.  At zero six hundred tomorrow, you are to report to the Midshipmen Trainer for reassignment to Middy quarters and to begin to repeat the units in ‘Officer’s Duties with Regard to Training and Leadership of Enlisted Men,’ plus the ‘Intensive Hands-On Practicum in Ship’s Cleaning, Maintenance, and Sanitation.’  I hope you enjoy the sewage reclamation plant because you’re going to be seeing a lot of it.  I will not tolerate abuse of Enlisted Men by Officers on my ship.  Dis
missed
.”

Military justice in action.  Quoth the Mikado:  “Let the punishment fit the crime.”

Goldman did an about face and stomped out of the room, literally dripping with insubordinate attitude.  Max suppressed the urge to call him back and dress him down further.  No.  A repeat of the Mids’ course in the right way to teach and lead the lower ranks, plus a month relearning ship’s cleaning, maintenance, and sanitation should readjust that man’s outlook.  If it worked, Max would make him an officer again in four or five months.  If it didn’t, Goldman would see what the galaxy looked like from the perspective of an Ordinary Spacer 3d Class. 

Max then turned his attention to the cringer.  He didn’t look a day over eighteen.  “Spacer, what’s your name?”

“Onizuka, sir.” 

“Onizuka, how long have you been in Sensors?”

“Three days sir.”

“Before that?”

“I was in Environmental Control on the
Hai Lung
.  Then I got twenty-four days of training in Sensors at Llellewellyn Station and then they shipped me here.”

“And was today the first time you had ever been asked to do a Spectrographic Identification Protocol on a real contact?”

“Yes, sir.  It was.”

“Well, Onizuka, when I was a Greenie, the first time I did a specident I told the SSR Commander that a Forthian Customs Probe was a Krag Limpet Torpedo.  The whole ship went to General Quarters and we came within a micron of firing on the damn thing.  Forthia hadn’t joined the Union at that point, so I could have started a war.  Fortunately, the Sensors Officer in CIC insisted that we follow the dual phenomenology rule and not fire until we got another reading from another kind of sensor that gave us the same answer.”

“What did they do to you, sir?” asked the young Spacer, wide eyed.

“Do?  To me?  Not a thing, except rag me about it.  Endlessly.  For the better part of a year, every time we encountered some sort of innocent target like a navigation buoy or a comm relay or a postage and parcel drone, someone or other would ask me if I thought it was hostile and whether we should fire on it.  When we’d go to a bar on shore leave and the bartender would pass us some bar nuts or pretzels, someone would say, ‘Hey Robichaux, you sure that’s not a
hostile target
?”  That got him a few chuckles.  “Now, who in here has spent some time on this console?”  One man, an Able Spacer First, stood up.  “And you are?”

“Smith, sir.”

“And, Spacer Smith, if my luck’s holding, there will be more than one Smith on board this ship.  Right?”

“Yes, sir.  There are three.”

“Your first name, then?”

“James, sir.  But that won’t help sir.  Every one of us is named James.  Sir.”

“So, you go by your middle names, then.”

“No, sir.  I don’t have a middle name and the two other Smiths are both named James Edwin.”

“Merciful God.  What genius decided to put you three on the same ship?  I must have an enemy in BuPers.  What are we supposed to use as names for you three so that no one gets confused?”

“Chief Bond decided we should go by our homeworld name.  I’m from Greenlee four, so I’m ‘Greenlee,’ and the other two guys are ‘Wang’ and ‘Stoddard.’”

“Chief Bond has a lot of sense.  Thank God none of you is from Zubin Eschamali IX.  Or, even worse, Fuhkher II.”  That one got a few laughs.  The mood in the room was starting to lighten a bit.  Maybe these people can start to function now.  “OK, then, Greenlee.  I want you to sit down right here and spend the next hour teaching Onizuka everything you can about specidents.  Since he’s had the course, he must know most of what he needs, so give him the practical tips you learned on the job that weren’t in the training, and then run a few exercises.  I’ve got some you haven’t seen.  Access the menu under ‘Captain’s Training Files.’” 

Just then, Harbaugh came in, out of breath, pillow creases on the right side of his face, eyes bleary.  The man obviously needed coffee.  Max looked around for the pot.  He couldn’t spot it.  A cola would do.  He couldn’t spot the drinks chiller, either.  Then, he noticed that there were no coffee cups or mugs, nor any beverages of any kind anywhere in the compartment.  Max looked at the CPO 1
^st
with all the stripes.  If anyone here knew what the hell was going on, it would be this man.  “Chief, what’s your name?”

“Kleszczynska, sir.”  When he got a blank stare from the Captain, he spelled it.

Max looked imploringly at the ceiling for a second.  “And what do the people who have not practiced Polish tongue twisters from birth call you, Chief?”