“There is no reason to believe that anything is wrong with the components installed on the ship,” the Engineer said, “but with your permission, I’ll check everything as thoroughly as I can. Earth will insist on studying everything, of course, but my report will clearly state that the sabotaged component was responsible for the death of Captain Harriman and the pilot.”
“Ceres,” I repeated. Someone had aimed a random shot into the UNPF and scored a direct hit. They’d killed the Captain himself. It was easy to believe that I had been the target, in revenge for my actions above Albion, but cold logic told me otherwise. “Thank you, Ivan. Please let me know when we can wormhole out and head back to Earth.”
He left the cabin and the hatch hissed closed behind him. “It wasn’t your fault,” the Senior Chief said. I’d been half-expecting him to scream at me for losing the Captain. “You don’t need to blame yourself.”
“I can’t help it,” I admitted. “It should have been me on that shuttle.”
“Bullock manure,” the Senior Chief snapped. “The Captain had to go pay his respects to the Government. He had to go. You didn’t know that the shuttle would explode and neither did he. Now, stop whining and assume command. You cannot afford to have people wondering why you didn’t assume command at once.”
I took his meaning. UNPF investigators would be crawling all over the ship. They might find something linked to my own plans, or place additional listening devices on the ship, or God alone knew what else. I couldn’t afford to arouse suspicion, not now that I had a chance to convert my vague plan into something workable.
“Yes,” I said, slowly. I stood up and walked towards the hatch. “I’ll take command from the bridge.”
The crew on the bridge stood to attention as I entered and, after a moment’s reluctance, sat down in the Captain’s chair. No bolt of lightning vaporised me. No one raced onto the bridge to declare me an impostor and throw me out of the nearest airlock. It felt…as if I was betraying him by sitting in his chair, yet the Senior Chief was right. If he were alive now, he’d be giving me a lecture on dereliction of duty instead of understanding.
“All hands, this is Lieutenant Walker,” I said, keying the intercom. My voice would be heard over the entire ship. “I must confirm the death of Captain Harriman and Pilot Garry Patterson in a shuttle accident at 1345. In accordance with regulations, I am assuming the position of Captain of this vessel. A brief funeral service will be held in the main shuttlebay at 1800. Anyone who wishes to attend will be welcome.”
An hour passed slowly. I found that I couldn’t remain in his chair and went to his cabin instead, inspecting it carefully. Jason joined me — as per regulations — and we carefully packed up everything he’d possessed, before transferring it all to a sealed hold. He’d had a collection of old books, including some that were in restricted circulation, and a small photo album. I looked through it and saw pictures of his family, his friends and his crew. There was even a picture of Roger, Muna and myself, taken on the day we’d been promoted to Lieutenant. I couldn’t stop the tears from forming in my eyes and wiped them away bitterly. The Captain had deserved better than that.
“It wasn’t your fault,” Jason repeated. He passed me a Captain’s rank badge and I pinned it on, cursing the price that came with it. “Never forget that. It wasn’t your fault.”
That evening, most of the crew assembled in the main shuttlebay. I had to order one of the Lieutenants and two of the Ensigns to remain on watch — the pirate ship might return at any moment — but everyone wanted to attend. I knew that the crewmen on duty in Engineering or Tactical would be watching through the internal communications system. I couldn’t blame them. It wouldn’t be the first shipboard funeral I’d attended, but it was the first of someone who meant something to me. The Captain had made a man of me.
I looked at the pair of sealed caskets — they were empty; the bodies had been vaporised — and felt a lump in my throat. “We stand together to bid farewell to two of our number,” I began, reading the standard UNPF funeral service. I had never felt that it lacked a certain something before, but now…now, I wondered what was missing. “They served well beside us and led us onwards towards the ultimate destination of the human race. We remember them fondly in our thoughts and memories and bid them farewell.
“They lived in space and so we return them to space to drift forever,” I continued. At my command, the burial party started to carry the two caskets towards the airlock. “Trusting in space to preserve them forever, we cast them adrift on their voyage towards the undiscovered country. We bid them farewell.”
It was customary to share stories of the diseased, afterwards, but I didn’t feel like saying much. “I remember the moment when I first met Captain Harriman,” I said. I was breaking regulations by referring to him by rank, but I couldn’t call him Percival. It was so hard to think of what I could say. How could I tell the truth when it might lead to me being investigated? “He taught me how to be a man and welcomed me onboard his ship. He taught me how to grow into a young officer. His presence is sorely missed.”
Afterwards, we bid farewell to the locals, opened up a wormhole, and raced towards Earth.
The Engineer’s report didn’t make comfortable reading. I had always known that components never lasted as long as the manufactures claimed, but I was starting to wonder if we were the victims of subtle sabotage. Several other components had been identified as failing suspiciously quickly, including one that was linked right into the tactical console. I read the report carefully and then insisted on the entire system being stripped down and replaced with completely new — and checked — components. It didn’t help that some components had to be locked in place and, when checked, were ruined anyway. There was nothing on the ship that could be used to destroy us completely, apart from the missile warheads, but if we suffered a series of failures, it would have the same effect. The missiles, at least, didn’t come from a place that used conscript workers.
I also realised just how the Captain must have felt when I was training the Ensigns. As First Lieutenant, I was responsible for their training, but as Captain, I had to remain aloof. Lieutenant Jerry Robertson — the new First Lieutenant — was a capable officer, but he wasn’t me! He knew what he was doing — hell, he’d been almost as involved as I had been — but it wasn’t the same. I started to insist on regular reports, which he accepted calmly, until I realised that the Captain had trusted me to do it properly and left it alone. I couldn’t understand how he had tolerated it. I felt the urge to check up on them every day.
The Captain’s private computer files made interesting reading. I hadn’t realised that the Captain kept copies of everything in his own files, but he had, including reports on us. I’d never read my own file before and was surprised to discover that both of my Captains had rated me highly. I had half-suspected that Shalenko’s willingness to agree to my transfer had been because I had been reluctant to fire on ground targets and accept the deaths of innocent civilians. Captain Harriman had praised me to the skies, along with several other officers, including Sally. If she hadn’t shot her mouth off…she would probably have risen high with his reports.
I worked with the Senior Chief and the Master Sergeant every day, using the time and privacy of the Captain’s position, working out the plan. It would be simple enough, I hoped, to bring most of the Marines onside. The Marines knew as well as everyone else that the war was beyond being won and, sooner or later, someone would unleash weapons of mass destruction. The UN was terrified of WMD and after the loss of two cities to terrorists it was hard to blame them. On the other hand, would they fear losing the war more? I allowed myself to start feeling optimistic. If we played our cards right, we might even be able to move within the year.