He had to stop and think about that. It seemed an eternity ago that he had strode the decks of Merlon, even though he had slept frozen in survival sleep through the intervening century between then and now, and his memories were still vivid. “She was about thirty years old when I assumed command. Her planned hull life was one hundred years. That was the working figure for ships of her class. The hull life could be extended if necessary, but it would have required exhaustive overhaul and replacement to keep one of those heavy cruisers going for another several decades beyond the century mark.”
Desjani had a look of total disbelief. “A hundred years? They actually built ships assuming they’d last that long?”
“They did last that long,” Geary said, “until the war started. We’d upgrade systems along the way to keep it all state-of-the-art, of course.”
“Astounding,” Smythe murmured. “I wish I could have seen that ship. The engineering must have been exceptionally high quality.” He shook his head, smiling sadly. “Do you know how long these ships of ours were built to last, sir?”
The memories of Geary’s first impressions had not faded. “Rough edges, sloppy welds. They were built fast. I’ve heard they weren’t expected to last long.”
Smythe nodded. “Expected combat life spans were measured in months. Maybe a couple of years at the outside. Hardly any hulls made it to three years before being destroyed. Five years? Nothing survived that long. Absolutely nothing.” He waved around. “With apologies to her commanding officer and crew, Dauntless is quite an old girl now by the standards she was designed and built to meet.”
Perhaps it was because the idea was still foreign to Geary, but Desjani understood first. “Dauntless wasn’t designed for this long a career. Her systems are wearing out.”
“Exactly,” Smythe agreed. “Dying of old age, to use a living organism’s equivalent. The power distribution junctions failing on Dauntless and the other older ships are sort of canaries in the mine shaft, the first components to begin breaking down because they were never designed to work this long. See here.” A window popped up next to Smythe, and he pointed to some of the information displayed. “The junctions that failed on Dauntless in the last few months were ones that had somehow failed to be damaged or destroyed in battle up until now. They’re original equipment, and they’ve exceeded their planned life spans. It’s the same on the other ships of age in this fleet.”
Geary winced, thinking about the scale of repair work that represented. “We’re going to have replace most of the power distribution systems on the older ships?”
“No, Admiral.” Smythe spread his hands apologetically. “Everything on these ships was built with the expectation that it would only have to last a few years at the most.”
“Ancestors preserve us.”
“I’ve been talking to mine,” Smythe said. “Unfortunately, I doubt that our ancestors will show up to shower us with new equipment and help install it.”
Desjani was watching Smythe with a horrified expression. “If all of the older ships are developing these problems . . .”
“Then every ship in the fleet will develop them within the next few years, yes.” Smythe sighed again. “That’s the bad news.”
“There’s good news?” Geary asked, wondering what this information might do to his plans for departure.
“Relatively good.” Smythe called up another window, pointing to the graphs and curves on it. “First off, the failures won’t all cascade at once. There’ll be a curve, starting out slowly as older ships like Dauntless hit their limits. For some time, if the auxiliaries we have work at it and aren’t diverted by the need to repair battle damage and manufacture weaponry and such, we can not only make new components faster than they fail and replace the old systems with equipment that should last longer, but we can get a little ahead of the game. We’ll still face a serious crunch about a year and a half down the line, of course, when the bulk of the existing fleet starts hitting the two-and-half- and three-year points in their lives.”
Geary studied the data, nodding. “Is that all the good news?”
“Well, the main problems are in systems and sensors. The hulls and structures are fine. They had to be built to certain tolerances and durability in order to withstand combat maneuvering, which also means the hulls and structures are durable enough to last. The government couldn’t cut too many corners there, or the ships would have come apart in action. That means we don’t have to worry about them cracking into pieces purely because of age though I recommend we do step up inspections for weaknesses in the hulls and structures developing as a result of accumulated strain.”
“That seems like a good idea.” Geary used one finger to trace a curve on a graph. “If this holds, in a year and a half, about a third of the ships in the fleet will be as seriously degraded as if they had suffered major battle damage.”
“It could hit one-half,” Smythe cautioned. “I used best estimates, but if contractors and shipyards cut corners, the equipment might not even hold up as long as that. And, of course, if you insist upon fighting battles, that will complicate matters as well because of the need to repair battle damage and manufacture replacements for battle-damaged parts and expended weaponry.”
“I’ll keep that in mind. What about regular overhauls back here in Alliance space? Are those factored in?”
Smythe made a face. “ ‘Overhaul’ these days probably doesn’t mean what you think it does. What it means is making sure all damage is repaired and everything works.”
Geary realized that he was staring at Smythe again. “What about replacing old systems? Upgrades?”
“If it’s not broken going in, it doesn’t get repaired or replaced.” Smythe shrugged. “This way of doing things developed in the course of a very long war in which ship survival times were very short. Why go to the expense of upgrading a ship that would very likely be destroyed within a year and be replaced with a new ship?”
Slumping back, Geary tried to take in the implications. “Things have to change. The system has to start assuming that ships will remain in commission for extended periods, and the overhaul, construction, and repair requirements have to be changed so that they’re based on that.”
“What construction?” Desjani asked. “A few hulls are being finished and everything else shut down.”
Smythe smiled wryly. “Just so. What you say makes sense, Admiral. But it will not only require a change in mind-sets among senior officers and the entire fleet bureaucracy as well as substantial parts of the government, it will also require significant sums of money.”
“They did this on purpose,” Desjani growled. “They knew what was happening, and they still handed this whole mess to Admiral Geary.”
“I don’t think so,” Smythe suggested. “Or perhaps not the full implications. Even we hadn’t realized what was going to happen. In Admiral Geary’s case, it’s because his experience with such things is prewar, and for you, me, and all of the other fleet officers, it’s because we’ve never encountered this problem. If somehow a ship survived past the life of its systems, it would undoubtedly have been so battered by combat as to be good only for scrapping to recover materials.”
Geary looked at the graphs again, trying to sort out what he was feeling at this moment. “But just because we tell the government and fleet headquarters about this doesn’t mean that they’ll fix it. They might just let the fleet shrink rapidly through end-of-hull-life attrition.” Which didn’t mean they would also shrink missions to match fewer ships, naturally. He wondered how long ago it had been that people were first told to do more with less. Probably it had been when some protohumans were without enough stone tools. “Money, you said. How much can we afford to have your auxiliaries do? I know they can manufacture and install what we need, but how much will it cost?”