Man Of War: To Honor You Call Us Part 18

He turned to his right. Still speaking Standard, he ordered in a panicked voice, "Null the drive, kill the field, prepare for boarding and inspection."

Back to the camera, he said, quaveringly, "Captain, we await your boarding party."

"Wise decision, Captain." To his imaginary weapons officer, "Armis dominum, qui inrita ordinem." And then to the camera, "Very well. Prepare to be boarded. Finum nuntiante." In response to those orders, stealth killed the false pulse cannon emissions and Comms closed the channel.

The instant the channel was closed, Max turned to Weapons. "Engage grappling field and put the freighter in docking position. Maneuvering, as soon as we get a firm lock, null the drive."

He hit the comm switch, "Major Kraft, you and your boarding party ready?"

"Chomping at the bit, sir." Max preferred not to think too carefully about what that would look like.

"Mister Kurtz, escort the doctor. Make sure he gets to boarding hatch Charlie by the most direct route." Max had no high opinion of Dr. Sahin's ability to find quickly any part of the ship other than the Casualty Station, the wardroom, and his own quarters. Kurtz, who knew every corridor and access ladder like the back of his hand, led the garishly costumed doctor c.u.m cutter captain out.

"Major Kraft, the doctor is on his way. CIC out."

In less than three minutes, Sahin was standing in the boarding airlock, a compartment about seven meters square, near the boarding hatch with Major Kraft and eight Marines. Kraft and his men were all clad in crimson and gold uniforms similar to the doctor's, but less ornate, and all carried the stainless steel, polymer-stocked, sawed-off shotguns, Sig-Sauer pattern sidearms, and short swords carried by boarding parties in the Romanovan Revenue and Inspection Service. The Marines seemed perfectly familiar with the weapons. As one Marine manipulated the controls, the boarding tube extended from the destroyer's airlock to that of the freighter, a green light indicating that the tube was fully extended and pressurized. The party went into the tube, closing the hatch behind them.

Reaching the other end after only about seven meters, the same Marine hit another switch. A red light indicating that there was an excessive pressure difference between the freighter and the boarding tube switched to amber, indicating that the pressure was being equalized, in this case by opening a valve admitting air into the tube from a tank of high-pressure reserve air installed in the tube's extension hardware for that purpose. A countdown clock appeared on the control console, initially showing 0:45, meaning that the equalization process would take 45 seconds. The doctor whispered something to Kraft. The major's eyes hardened.

One Marine, a private, elbowed a lance corporal, who presumably knew marginally more than he, and said, "Sven, why do we got to keep up the play acting? We've got them grapped. They're not going anywheres."

"'Cause, they might really be Ghiftee neutrals, that's why. If they are, we don't want them to know they were boarded by a Union ship, as it might create an interstellar in-sye-dent, that's why. If they are, we can just say they pa.s.sed inspection, cast off, and send them on their merry way, none's the wiser, that's why."

Kraft turned to his men. "Remember, men. Don't say a word unless you have to. Keep your eyes open and be ready for anything, but don't shoot unless we are attacked first or you hear me give the order. But don't be surprised if there are Krag on that ship. All right. Just a few seconds."

The counter reached zero, and the hatch on the freighter opened with a slight hiss, admitting the boarding party to an airlock. The hatch closed behind them; the airlock mechanism verified that there was adequate pressure in the chamber; and the inner hatch opened. Five Marines stormed through the opening, shotguns held high and fanned out in a rough semicircle in what looked to be a corridor, rather narrower than those on the destroyer. Seeing nothing any more threatening than Captain McKelvie standing in the corridor and sweating nervously, one of them sang out, "Securos."

Kraft, the doctor, and the rest of the Marines entered the corridor, with Kraft, who was apparently uniformed as some sort of officer, and the doctor coming to the fore. The doctor stood before the captain, who bowed to him formally. The doctor returned the bow, just a hair less deeply, and said, "Captain, kindly take us to the bridge."

He then turned to a group of five Marines who were standing a little apart from the others and said, "Quaere navis." Search the ship. The remaining four Marines, Kraft, and the doctor followed Captain McKelvie forward. As soon as the captain was out of sight, one of the five Marines in the first group produced a handheld scanner from his equipment belt, pushed a few b.u.t.tons, glared narrowly at the display, pressed a few more b.u.t.tons, glowered at the device's tiny screen, pulled his percom out of a pocket in his uniform, and pressed a few keys on it in a preestablished sequence.

Tiny ear buds placed deep in the ear ca.n.a.ls of the doctor and Major Kraft softly beeped. The two men shared a glance just as they stepped onto the freighter's bridge where, in addition to the captain, there were three men at various stations.

"Captain, your doc.u.mentation, please," Sahin asked.

The captain pulled a blue cube, measuring about one centimeter on each side, out of a tiny compartment in the Commander's Station and handed it to the doctor, who inserted it in what was dummied up to look like a standard Romanovan ID Cube reader. The reader told him that the Romanovan device that this reader purported to be would have shown the cube to contain the genuine Ghiftee Ship's Registry, s.p.a.ce Frame Inspection Certificate, Engine Inspection Certificate, Environmental Systems Sufficiency and Operability Certificate, Safety Equipment Inspection Certificate, Galley Health Inspection Certificate, flight plan, cargo manifest, and personnel manifest for Ghiftee Cargo Vessel Loch Linnhe. It also told him, because the circuitry was from a state-of-the-art Union Naval ID Cube Reader, that the cube was a sophisticated forgery, probably of Krag manufacture. He ejected the cube from his reader and put it in a small pocket on his tunic, just the right size for holding a few ID cubes.

"And your personal ID, if you please." The captain reached into his tunic and produced a green cube, the same size as the blue one. The doctor's scanner showed this cube to be forged as well. Even the man's name was probably made up. "It says here, Captain, that you are a native of Ghifta Prima."

"Yes. Born and raised."

Ghifta Prima was only the fifth extra solar planet settled by humans. The colonization expedition was put together by an idealistic dreamer named Solomon Ghift who drew colonists from, quite literally, every nation on Earth. And because Standard had not yet become standard and they spoke hundreds of languages, he made every one of them learn Esperanto, a language still spoken as a cradle tongue by all that world's natives.

"So, then you would speak the Esperanto."

"Yes, of course. Do you?"

"No. Not really." The captain was relieved at this news, although he tried not to show it. "I do, however, know enough to share this little joke with you. Via patro estas malpura kovarda." At that, the doctor laughed loudly and slapped the man on the shoulder. The captain laughed with equal gusto, proving what the doctor suspected based on the faked ID cube, that this man was not a Ghiftee. If he were, after all, he would not have laughed when the doctor told him, "Your father is a dirty coward."

The doctor ejected the captain's ID cube and handed the reader to one of the Marines, abruptly ceasing his laughter. He then elaborately dropped the cube on the deck, affected an exaggerated shrug of apology, and suddenly stomped it with the heel of his right boot, shattering the cube into ten thousand tiny, glittering shards. Before the captain could even gasp his shock, Sahin had shattered the second cube in the same manner. "You are no more a Ghiftee than I am Solomon Ghift. Marines, arrest them."

"Marines? You're Union!" the captain exclaimed, reaching into an equipment bin, grabbing something, and pulling the object free. Suddenly Sahin's sword flashed out and he brought it down, edge first, on the captain's arm, slicing neatly through the man's uniform sleeve, but not breaking the skin.

"This sword, as you can see, my dear sir, has a keen edge." As did Dr. Sahin's voice. "And if you do not want me to perform a nonsurgical amputation of that arm, you will drop whatever is in your hand and put both hands, slowly, where I can see them."

"You'd best do it, mate," said one of the Marines. "If he's even a hair slow on the sword, this shotgun will do you just fine." The other Marines covered the remaining bridge crew with their shotguns, carefully positioning themselves so that no one was in anyone else's line of fire.

"Truss 'em, men," said Kraft. Covering each other in series, the Marines produced wrist ties and cinched the crewmen's wrists behind their backs. When this task was accomplished, Kraft pulled out his percom, strapped it to his wrist, and pushed the call b.u.t.ton. "Aft party, status."

"We've got two men in Engineering and one Krag that was holed up in a cargo bin," said a Marine from the other group. "It used its sword to express its objections to being taken captive, so I had to blow its arm off with a shotgun. Tell the doctor that I put the stump in a tourniquet and I've saved the loose arm. It's still flopping something fierce-don't know whether he'll want to try to reattach it, hang it on his wall, or give it to his girlfriend to wear as a stole, but I've got it wrapped up.

"The two humans are uninjured-they're trussed up nice and neat. Two interesting discoveries, though. First, there was a h.e.l.luva bomb bolted to the main reactor-set to blow if tampered with or if the ship was. .h.i.t by weapons fire. Dokate disarmed it, and we jettisoned the explosive. Second, we found their cargo. You'll never believe it, sir. It's gold. Tons and tons of it."

CHAPTER 17.

10:44Z Hours, 29 January 2315 Max and Dr. Sahin were sharing a relaxing, if not perfectly flavorful, dinner in Max's day cabin. The evening's menu included a spicy vegetable soup, undoubtedly made with frozen vegetables, followed by an even spicier meat and vegetable goulash (the fewer questions asked about the meat, the better), freshly baked bread (flour, baking powder, powdered eggs, and so on, were compact and easily stored for long periods, so there was always fresh bread on a well-ordered warship), mashed potatoes (dried, reconst.i.tuted), green beans (canned), and lemon pound cake for dessert (what goes for bread also goes for cake). All washed down, in Max's case, with the better than fair, but not quite good, ship's beer (every ship brewed its own beer unless the CO2 scrubbers were malfunctioning) and capped by the ubiquitous naval fuel, Navy coffee-hot, strong, and black. Dr. Sahin drank fruit juice (reconst.i.tuted from freeze-dried powder) with his dinner but shared coffee with Max.

Having finished the meal, the men moved to the day cabin's sitting area, where both men sipped their coffee and enjoyed a second slice of the really quite creditable pound cake.

Dr. Sahin had eaten only about half as much as Max, but he had just emitted a long, loud belch and seemed utterly satisfied with the fare. "The victuals on board this vessel are certainly better than they were on Travis Station."

"Really? I'd have thought that the food on a station would be better than on ship. Stations get more frequent resupply, from more sources. The variety should be better, at any rate."

"I haven't been on board ship long enough to develop an opinion regarding variety, but the food here is more flavorful than on the station. Station food was abundant but unspeakably bland."

"That won't be a problem here. I've got some genuine Cajuns back in the galley. Even when the dishes aren't traditionally Cajun, they're going to have more flavor than you're used to getting from naval cooking. My experience in the Navy is that the cuisine is influenced primarily by that of the Midwest of North America and the Southeast of Great Britain."

"Vast, desolate culinary wastelands," said Dr. Sahin, shaking his head.

"Meat and potatoes and overcooked vegetables."

"I'm going to enjoy this posting. I have not eaten this well in years. My only concern on board ship is encountering swine flesh without knowing it."

"Not a problem. Nearly a quarter of the Navy is Muslim, so pork is not a part of the naval diet, with the exception of bacon and ham, which are always served separately and with alternative dishes available." Then he put two and two together. "Doctor? I didn't know you were Muslim."

"I have made no secret of it."

Max made a dismissive gesture. "No matter. You know the old saying, 'We were birthed by a hundred faiths, but the Navy is father to us all.' Speaking of secrets, I was wondering how you knew there were Krag on that freighter. Major Kraft told me that you whispered in his ear, before any sensor readings were taken, that you were almost certain that there were Krag aboard."

"That? That was a perfectly elementary deduction. When the boarding tube mated to the freighter boarding hatch, it took forty-five seconds for the pressure to equalize, and I felt in my eardrums that air was being pumped into the tube rather than being allowed to escape. That meant that the air pressure on the freighter was about 30 percent higher than the pressure used on this ship, which is the naval standard-mean sea level pressure on Earth, which is just over one hundred kilopascals. Ghiftee ships are normally equalized for sea level pressure on Ghifta Prima, which is ninety-eight kilopascals. So, if that freighter were a Ghiftee ship, we should have bled a little pressure, not packed in nearly a third more. Further, I know that the Krag insist that all ships that have even one of their kind on board run at their standard pressure, which is 135 kilopascals, just over a third more than what we use. So, I suspected Krag."

"I am impressed, Doctor. I am also impressed that you had the ship's armorer sharpen that ceremonial sword the metal shop made for you."

"Not precisely correct. The armorer, at my request, made it from the same alloy as the ship's boarding cutla.s.ses and put a fine edge on it from the outset. Accordingly, whereas the sword is in the form of a ceremonial blade it is, in reality, a true weapon. A wolf in sheep's clothing, as it were. My people have used swords for two thousand years and never abandoned the tradition. I am very comfortable with them. I would not carry one if it were not a real weapon."

"Very wise, Doctor. Now, how's your Krag patient?"

"He will do very well, Allah willing." Max cringed inwardly at the doctor's use of the p.r.o.noun "he" for the Krag, but did not correct him. The official naval protocol was to refer to all Krag, regardless of gender, by the impersonal p.r.o.noun "it" rather than "he" or "she." Max supposed it was to dehumanize them. Based on his personal experiences with the species, Max didn't need a p.r.o.noun to do that.

"They are a remarkably resilient species. I stem cellcultured the necessary soft tissue and bone and used them to reattach the severed limb. It now has circulation, sensation, and movement, and should recover about 95 percent of its former usefulness. I'm keeping him unconscious for now, as the nerve regeneration is still taking place and it's a very painful process. He should be ready to be reawakened in a day or so, and then he can converse with our friend from the UMID." He p.r.o.nounced the customary acronym for the Union Military Intelligence Directorate so that it rhymed with "humid."

"Ah, him. I've never liked those guys. They always keep to themselves, sitting in their quarters spying on you by using their high-level access to surf through every database and sensor feed on the ship, until you get a prisoner. Then they come out of their hole and monopolize the interrogation process with it and never tell you what they learn."

"This is my first experience with one. I see him every twelve hours, regular as a pulsar, inquiring whether the patient has regained consciousness. He's very polite to me, not demanding or imperious in the least."

"That, Doctor, is because the prisoner is not yet awake. When he has someone to interrogate, I suspect that he'll change his stripes. In any event, I'm pleased the Krag is doing well. Perhaps we can get something useful out of it. Maybe it knows about other Krag cargoes in the area."

"That would be very useful. Perhaps it is this possibility that has so cheered the crew. Or perhaps it is their recent capture of the freighter. The whole lot of them seem astonishingly happy right now. In fact, they appear far happier than when we destroyed the Krag warships, which perplexes me, as the earlier victory seems the greater of the two."

"Perhaps in a strategic and tactical sense, but taking this freighter is much more important to them personally."

"How is that-because it required more skill?"

"No, Doctor. You mean... I can't believe it. You really don't know?"

"Know what? You must not practice upon my credulous simplicity."

"My friend, haven't you ever heard of prize money?" He said the words in the way a hungry carnivore might say "grilled steak."

"Certainly, I've heard of it. If a crew captures a warship intact, it can be of some monetary benefit to them. I do not really know the specifics."

Max shook his head. "There're articles in the database, Doctor, well-written articles adapted to the most planet-bound reader, about Navy life and regulations and customs. A man of your obvious brilliance could read and a.s.similate them quite easily, you know."

"But my time is so short, and I have so much to learn of more pressing application."

"It's been a long war and the Navy needed something to make protracted service more attractive. The Chief of Naval Operations, something of a salt.w.a.ter naval historian, suggested the idea of prize money to the Admiralty; he knew about it from his studies of the British Navy in the Age of Sail. It seemed a good idea, so we borrowed loosely from the British, just as we have borrowed so many other things.

"In our system, which differs somewhat from the British one, when an enemy vessel or cargo is captured, one-fifth, or 20 percent, of the value goes to the complement of the capturing vessel as prize money. One half of that amount, 10 percent, goes to me as captain. One half of the remainder, or 5 percent, is divided equally among the other commissioned officers, and that includes the chief medical officer, while the men divide the other 5 percent among themselves, by heads."

"I can see why the men might be experiencing unusual cheer."

"You don't know the half of it. Prize money includes the cargo of the captured vessel, which can come to quite a nice little sum. In this case, that smallish freighter was carrying forty-two metric tons of gold."

"Really? That much? All I saw was two chests, and not very large ones at that."

"You forget how dense gold is. A single cubic meter of gold weighs more than nineteen tons. Each of those chests contained just over one cubic meter of pure gold, in twenty-kilogram bricks. The value of that gold at the current market price is just over a hundred and thirty million credits. Each man aboard ship has earned more money than most of them have ever had at one time in their lives, and her captain is now quite a wealthy man.

"And that doesn't count that sweet little freighter. I've sent it back to Lovell Station with a four-man prize crew. She will be sold privately or used by the Navy, which is always in need of cargo vessels of various sorts. In either event, we will share in either her appraised value if the Navy takes her or in her sale price if sold. She's fast, has reasonably comfortable accommodations, and boasts a superb sensor suite for a civvy. She'll fetch at least ten or eleven million if she fetches a dime."

"With fourteen million credits or so, you could retire from the Navy."

"Perish the thought, Doctor. The Navy is my family, my career, my life. I know no other. Besides, with this war going the way it is going, the Navy cannot spare any competent officer, particularly one with my combat experience. I'm in this until I'm killed, crippled, too old to fight, or the war ends. My hope is to see this war through to a victory for the Union, and my goal is to be instrumental in that victory. I am ambitious enough to see myself hoisting my flag and leading a Task Force in the decisive battle that wins the war for us. Absurd, I know."

"I think not. Seriously, my friend, though you have your foibles and human weaknesses, you clearly and obviously have a gift for leadership and inspiration. Men follow you. And although I am not equipped to judge this aspect of your performance, I am told by people who are so equipped that you display a certain gift for tactics."

"Who told you that?"

"I'd rather not say. It is, however, the general opinion of certain knowledgeable people aboard. Such consensuses of informed crew members are invariably correct, or so I have heard. They regard you highly, as a commander and as a man."

"I'm not so sure about that. I almost got every man and boy of us killed the other day."

"You mean the incident with that new Krag weapon?"

"Exactly. I was so intent on what I was going to do to the enemy, I forgot to consider what he could be doing to me. It is so fundamental a mistake that I think even Ulysses S. Grant warned against it."

"You would not be the first to make that mistake, surely. General Grant must have seen it many times."

"No, I'm not the first, but the next time I make that mistake, it might be my last. In that case, everyone aboard would die with me. It was an unforgivable error."

"Nonsense. Ridiculous!" the doctor said with unexpected vehemence.

"No, Doctor, you weren't there. It was a clear error in judgment."

"I'm not disputing that it was an error. In fact, for the sake of argument, I am willing to grant you that it was a profound error, of incalculable enormity. What I am disputing is that the error was unforgivable. There is no such thing as an unforgivable error."

He grew grave. "I mean this most sincerely. That is one of the most important things that you, and I mean you most personally and particularly, must learn as a commander and as a man. There are almost always chances of ameliorating the consequences of the wrong, and there is always the prospect of forgiveness. Always. We are all the children of a merciful G.o.d. We are all imperfect, flawed, weak, limited, and p.r.o.ne to temptation and error. If we are contrite, strive to right our wrongs and to abjure that transgression in the future, and if we earnestly and humbly beg his forgiveness, Allah will bestow it upon us. And if you are forgiving of faults and errors in others, you will find that men will forgive your errors as well."

"'Forgive us our trespa.s.ses, as we forgive those who trespa.s.s against us.'"

"What's that? It sounds familiar."

"A line from the most famous prayer in my faith. I'm not sure I ever understood, really understood, what that meant. Until now."

"Perhaps. Or perhaps there is more for you to learn. In any event, the crew certainly knows all about the incident with the Krag weapon and, almost to a man, they hold you blameless. You are very well liked by all but a few on board."

"Well, maybe I won't be so popular after I do what I have to do with these human prisoners off the freighter."

"You've decided?"