Rescue One was commanded by a lieutenant she remembered from the Academy as a clown of sorts, Tika Briados; he didn’t seem clownish now, as he led her around the ready room with its racked suits and equipment. It all seemed a jumble to Esmay, though an orderly one—she recognized only about half the equipment and wondered how long it would take to learn the rest. Rescue Two’s commander was a jig she’d never met before, Kim Arek; she was eager and energetic, busily explaining things that Esmay hoped she could remember. She kept nodding, and found herself liking Jig Arek for her single-minded enthusiasm.
Going through both rescue team areas had taken hours, she found when she finally got away from Arek, and she needed to get ready for the meeting with the other officers. She did hope they weren’t all going to mention Brun Meager.
The wardroom was crowded when she got there.
“Lieutenant Suiza—glad to meet you.” The blocky major who thrust out his hand reminded her of Major Pitak. “I’m Gordon Bannon, pathology.”
“Officers—” That was Captain Solis, who stood; the others quieted. “This is Lieutenant Esmay Suiza, our new executive officer. Some of you have heard of her—” There were murmurs that Esmay hoped referred to her earlier exploits. “She’s fresh out of Copper Mountain, with the basic course in SAR, so I’m sure you’ll all cooperate in educating her into the real world.” He sounded friendly enough; this was clearly an old joke, for their chuckle had no edge to it.
After that, the others came up one by one to introduce themselves. Esmay began to relax as she chatted with them; they were clearly more interested in how she might perform here than in anything which had happened in her past.
In the next few days, she threw herself into her work, loading her scheduler with everything she could think of, or that anyone suggested. When Shrike left the base, she was just beginning to think she had a handle on her assignments. Shrike would patrol alone through the sector, ready to assist in any emergency that fell within its mission statement. According to those who had been aboard longest, days might go by with nothing happening, or disasters might overlap . . . there was no way to predict.
“The ship’s a part-container, part-bulk hauler that lost power on insertion . . . the insystem drive’s functioning at maybe twenty percent. They say it’s fluctuating, and they can’t make orbit. We’ve advised them that there’s a registered salvage company in this system; the captain sounds unhappy with that. Says he’s had trouble before with salvage companies.”
The first emergency since she’d come aboard. Esmay listened to the prÈcis of the problem, and tried to remember which protocol this fell under.
“He wants Fleet assistance.” Captain Solis looked at Esmay. “We have a responsibility in such cases, but we must also consider our responsibility to the whole area. So I want an estimate on the time it will take us to skip-jump over there, rig grapples, and put him in tow, then sling him back toward the orbit he wants. He’s not an emergency.”
“Sir.” Esmay ran the numbers quickly. “Sixty hours, allowing a safety margin for rigging the grapples; he should have standard tug connections, but just in case.”
“Well, then . . . let’s go catch us a freighter.”
Esmay watched the approach plots carefully on the bridge displays. External vid showed a bulbous, almost spherical ship with rings of colored light indicating tug grapple connections.
“Ugly, isn’t it?” asked Lieutenant Briados. The Rescue One commander was on the bridge to watch the approach. “You’d think they could design big freighters with some character, but they all look pretty much alike.”
“It would hold a lot of soldiers,” Esmay said, the first thing that came into her mind.
Briados laughed. “I can tell you’re off a warship. Yeah, it could, but it hasn’t got insystem maneuverability worth spit. Even with the insystem drive working.”
“How do they even know where to mount the drives? What’s the drive axis?”
“Well, they want low-speed maneuverability near stations, so they mount two, usually, out near the hull and separated by sixty degrees; the drive axis is the chord perpendicular to the chord between the drives, in the same plane.” It took Esmay a moment to work that one out, but she nodded finally.
Captain Solis turned to her. “All right, Suiza—let’s see how you handle this. Just pretend you’ve been doing it for years.”
Her stomach churned. She nodded to the com watch, and picked up the headset to talk to the freighter captain, explaining that a team would be boarding.
“We just wanted a tow,” the captain said. “I don’t see why you want to board.”
“It’s R.S.S. policy to board all vessels seeking assistance,” Esmay said, repeating what Captain Solis had told her. “Just a routine, sir.”
“Damned nuisance,” the captain said.
“Think of it as practice,” Esmay said. “If we didn’t practice close-hauling and boarding, we might not be quick enough for someone with a serious emergency. After all, it might be your ship . . .”
“Oh, all right,” he said. “Just as long as you’re not planning to practice cutting holes in my hull.”
Shrike deployed standard tug grapples, backed up by its military-grade tractor. In this instance, the grapples homed neatly on the freighter’s signal, and locked on as Shrike maintained matching course and velocity. The tractor snugged the SAR ship closer still. Esmay gave the orders that sent Jig Arek and her team across a few hundred meters of vacuum to the other ship.
Rescue Two made its way in and out of all the holds, while Shrike boosted the freighter gently on its way, then returned before Solis ordered the grapples retracted.
“Captain—what were they looking for?” Esmay asked.
“Just practicing,” Solis said.
She looked at him; finally he grinned at her.
“All right. You might as well know. Sector’s concerned about possible shortages in the munitions inventory. We think some stuff’s being diverted from Fleet to civilian use. So the admiral says to check every ship that asks us for a boost. It is good practice, including the use of the warhead detection equipment.”
“What’s missing?” asked Esmay.
Solis spread his hands. “I’ve been told I don’t need to know, but since they specified the equipment we were to use looking for it, I’d say someone’s misplaced some of the more effective nukes.”
“Ouch.”
“Exactly. If our stuff’s being transshipped on civilian freighters, it could be going anywhere. To anyone. Probably not the Benignity—they have their own munitions industry, and plenty in stock. But any of the lesser hostile powers, or domestic malcontents . . .”
“Or simply pirates,” Esmay said.
“Yes. Anyone who wants a big bang.”
Chapter Six
Elias Madero, owned by the Boros Consortium, followed a five-angled route that had proved lucrative for decades. Olives and wine from Bezaire, jewels mined on Oddlink, livestock embryos from Gullam, commercial-grade organics from Podj, entertainment cubes from Corian, which had FTL traffic from deeper insystem, and the largest population in the area. She was a container hauler, picking up at each port the hold-shaped containers that had been filling since her last visit there. Her crew, most of them permanent, often had no idea what was in the containers. The captain did, presumably, and also the Boros agents at each port. But the containers had no accessible hatches—one advantage of container ships was supposed to be the impossibility of petty pilfering by crews—so they had no idea that the container in Hold 5 which was supposed to be filled with 5832 cube players was actually full of arms stolen from a Fleet stockpile. The other containers in Hold 5, which should have had entertainment cubes to be played in the cube players, contained more illicit weaponry, including thirty-four Whitsoc 43b11 warheads, their controlling electronics, and the arming keys.