Adapt and Overcome (The Maxwell Saga) (2 page)

“Aye aye, Sir.”

“The transporter will return shortly from towing the accommodation trailer to the warehouse. It’ll pick up its flatbed trailer, load the last pieces of wreckage,
then take them to the warehouse as well. You and the cleanup team will escort them. Make sure none of those damn vultures get their hands on any of it!” He glanced sourly at the hardstand outside the Range Control Office, where a utility van emblazoned with Brisance’s corporate logo had waited since the accident. The technicians inside had been warned they would be arrested if they entered the area around the wreck while it was still cordoned off. They hadn’t liked being ordered around, and their company had protested all the way up to the Board of Admiralty, but to no avail.

“It’ll be late by the time you get there,” he continued
, “so don’t bother to unload the transporter. Park it inside the warehouse. Make sure the security systems are activated before you leave, and remind the compound security staff that no-one except AIU staff may enter the building. In particular, no-one from Brisance is to be allowed inside under any circumstances!”

“Aye
aye, Sir.” Steve hesitated. “You keep mentioning that company, Sir. Is something wrong?”

“Yes,
there is, dammit!” Bullard scowled, then shook his head. “Sorry, Lieutenant. I shouldn’t have snapped at you. It’s just that Brisance is trying to cover its ass any and every way it can. It knows its warhead is the prime suspect in what happened, and its deal with CDI might be on the line as a result. It’s trying every trick in the book, and a few that aren’t, to get hold of any scrap of information it can use to defend itself, either in court or to the politicians. It’s even insinuating that we aren’t fully competent to conduct the inquiry, because of what it claims are ‘new technologies with which we’re not familiar’. Captain Ratisbon and I have been defending AIU against that sort of thing all week. It’s frustrating as hell!”

Steve settled for a diplomatic, “Sorry to hear that, Sir.”

“Not half as sorry as I am! Anyway, I’ve left you half a dozen of our people under Petty Officer Gilson. Once everything’s safely in the warehouse, you can dismiss them. They’ll return to their normal duties tomorrow, while our technicians and lab crew start going through the wreckage in the warehouse. I want you to be there for that. You’ll learn more in a week on an actual investigation than I could teach you in two or three months in the office.”

“Aye
aye, Sir.”

“Your pilot’s license and operating endorsements for all the Fleet’s small craft are still valid, right?”

“Yes, Sir.”

“Good. Your input as a qualified assault shuttle pilot will be very useful.” He stretched wearily. “Give thanks for your young back and legs, Lieutenant
. Mine have about had it after a week of bending and digging. I’ll see you tomorrow. I promised my wife I’d be home by eighteen, to take her to the theater tonight. She’ll stomp me into the doormat if I’m late!”

He turned and headed for his official vehicle, limping slightly. Steve and Hogarth relaxed from their positions of attention, their eyes following him. Hogarth asked, “
He’s pretty old for his rank, isn’t he, Sir?”

“Yes,
but he hasn’t been commissioned his entire career. He served in the ranks for twenty years, rising to an E-9 Master Chief Petty Officer, then was appointed as a Warrant Officer in the Accident Investigation Unit. He served another twelve years, staying in AIU and rising to W-5 Chief Warrant Officer, then was commissioned as a Limited Duty Officer. He’s been with AIU almost twenty-five years now, which is a record for any unit in the Fleet. His knowledge and experience make him the most qualified investigative team leader we’ve got.”

The senior NCO chuckled. “
With that background and all that experience, he must be quite a character, Sir.”

“He is. I’ve only been on his team a few months, but I’ve already learned a hell of a lot from him – ah, here’s the transporter!” Steve glanced towards a heavy vehicle approaching along the road leading to the Range Control Office. “I’ll get the last of the wreckage loaded,
then have our people take down the perimeter tape. After that the range will be yours again.”

“It’ll be good to get back to normal, Sir. We’ve got a lot of backlog to make up.”

Steve watched the transporter crew as they used crane, winch, and tractor and pressor beams to load the last crumpled bits and pieces of wreckage onto the flatbed trailer. Most had long since been gathered up after being photographed and mapped in place. He rode back to the parking lot outside the Range Control Office with the transporter, while the guards gathered up the security tape surrounding the last few wreckage sites, plus its support stakes.

As the transporter pulled onto the hardstand, Steve said to the driver, “Wait here. The others will be here shortly to escort us in their van. I’ll ride with you to the impound station.”

“Aye aye, Sir. What does this guy want?” The driver nodded to a white-coated man who’d climbed out of the Brisance van, and was walking towards the transporter.

“I’ll find out.”

Steve climbed down from the cab and walked towards the man, to prevent him getting too close to the wreckage. “Yes?” he asked curtly, without preamble.

“Is the site open to us now?”

“I wouldn’t know. I work for AIU, not for the range. You’ll have to ask its Commanding Officer for permission to enter the site – although I don’t know why you’d want to, now that we’ve taken away all the wreckage.”

“We might be able to learn something from soil samples.”

“Unlikely – we’ve carted away all the topsoil that had traces of contamination, or was beneath parts of the shuttle, or showed signs of impact. Still, if you want to take your own samples from what’s left, that’s as good a way to waste your time as any.”

Frustration was written all over the man’s face. “Anyone would think you regard us as enemies! Is it too much to ask for a little friendly co-operation for once?”

“You want my personal opinion? Your bosses might get more co-operation if they stopped making insinuations about AIU’s competence behind our backs. That isn’t calculated to make any of us, including me, look on Brisance with any friendliness.”

“Hey, that’s got nothing to do with me! That’s high-level office politics at work. I’m just a simple wrench-turner.”

“Uh-huh.
Suuure
you are. That’s why your bosses sent you and a few of your buddies to watch us around the clock from as close as you were allowed to get. And what’s with that sensor turret on top of your van? Don’t tell me a ‘simple wrench-turner’ just ‘happened’ to be assigned a vehicle equipped with one. Looks to me like you’re trolling for every scrap of information you can get, including recording everything we do – probably our conversations as well, those that your microphones can pick up.”

The man opened his mouth, hesitated,
then closed it again. His red face indicated either embarrassment or anger – Steve was betting on the latter. He finally managed to say, “You don’t understand! We’re facing questions from the Armed Forces Committee of the Commonwealth Senate, and possible lawsuits from the families of the crew. You won’t let us take samples and examine the wreckage, so how are we supposed to defend ourselves?”

“You’ll have
access to the wreckage soon enough. AIU handles the initial on-site investigation, you know that. All you have to do is wait a couple of weeks. Nobody’s going to take any action against you unless and until there’s evidence to support it. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I see my people coming in.”

Steve turned away without waiting for a response, and crossed to the AIU van as it pulled onto the
plascrete surface of the parking lot. He called to the driver, “Follow the transporter to the impound lot. I’ll ride with the driver to give you more room.”

“Thanks, Sir,” Petty Officer Second Class Gilson replied through the open window. “It’s a bit crowded in here, with all of us plus our field packs. Where’s yours, Sir?”

“It’s in the Control Center. I’ll collect it, then we’ll be on our way.”

~ ~ ~

Floodlights lit up the entrance to the huge compound, with more stretching away to either side on tall posts set between the double perimeter fences surrounding it. A Marine Sergeant came out of the guardhouse as the transporter pulled up, followed by the van. Steve got down, stretching, swatting at the tiny creatures buzzing, fluttering and circling around his head in the brightly lit area.

“Evening, Sir,” the Sergeant said as he saluted. “What kept you? You were supposed to be here hours ago.”

Steve returned his salute. “The transporter’s power-pack malfunctioned. We had to call a service vehicle to get it running again. They were supposed to notify you.”

“They didn’t, but it’s not the first time that’s happened, Sir. I’ll enter it in the operations log. Trouble is, the
staff has gone home, and the inner patrol verified that all the warehouses were locked during their most recent circuit of the compound. Do you have the security code?”

“Yes, I know the code. I’ve been in and out of that warehouse often enough over the last week, late at night or early in the morning, that I can recite it in my sleep!” They both chuckled.

The vehicles drove around the perimeter track, then down a broad avenue lined on both sides by hulking metal buildings with huge sliding doors. They pulled to a halt next to the fourth building on the left, which bore a large numeral ‘7’ on either side of its powered doors. Steve dismounted and entered a code on a keypad affixed beneath the leftmost numeral. The security system disarmed itself with a series of audible chirps. He pressed another button, and the doors slid smoothly open on their rails.

The driver pulled the transporter into the warehouse to the accompaniment of protesting whines from the vehicle’s electric motor. From the noise it made it clearly needed further attention, over and above that provided by the service truck earlier that evening. The van didn’t follow it inside, but stopped outside the warehouse doors. Petty Officer Gilson got out, walking to meet Steve as the transporter’s driver did likewise.

“That’s it, then, Sir,” the driver said wearily, gesturing to the wreckage spread across the floor of the warehouse. “I don’t envy the technical team, trying to make sense of all this lot!”

“It’ll be a tough job,” Steve agreed. “You all did very well getting everything gathered up and moved here so quickly.”

He blinked to activate the Personal Information Assistant perched behind his ear, then focused on the display projected onto a contact lens in his right eye. “It’s twenty-three-thirty already. It’s an hour’s drive to our offices, where my vehicle’s parked; but your barracks are in the opposite direction, so there’s no point in having you run me back. Besides, I’ll have to drive another half-hour from our offices to my apartment, then be on the road again by six to get back here in time to start work with the technical team. It’s not worth all that driving, for any of us. I’ll stay here tonight.”

“In the warehouse, Sir?”
Gilson queried, startled. “Won’t that be pretty uncomfortable?”

“The accommodation trailer’s here. I’ve slept in it three nights out of the past six. It’s not great, but it’s bearable. There should still be some ration packs in its kitchen, and a couple of packets of coffee; and they refilled the water tanks and emptied the waste tanks this morning, so I’ll be able to shower. I’ve got clean clothing in my field pack, so I’ll be all right for tomorrow.”

The NCO’s face cleared. “OK, Sir. I’ll tell the gate guards that you’ve stayed behind.”

“Thanks, PO. Go get some sleep
. We all need it after this past week.”

He watched them leave,
then walked over to the internal offices set against one wall of the warehouse, grimacing as the door squeaked open on dry, unoiled hinges. He activated the security system’s master control panel and toggled the doors, which slid closed as he checked the sensor turrets. There were six of them, spaced evenly beneath the roof to monitor every movement. He activated them, making sure they were recording everything, then linked the security system to his comm unit. If anyone tried to enter the warehouse without disarming the system, it would transmit an alert code to wake him.

Stretching wearily, he fetched his field pack and sleeping-bag from the transporter’s cab and
carried them to the accommodation trailer. It had five small sleeping compartments, each equipped with two vertically-stacked bunks, plus a tiny shared galley and fresher unit. He checked that the level of the trailer’s capacitor bank was nominal, then took a quick shower, grabbed the first field ration pack that came to hand, heated it and ate mechanically, almost without tasting the food, and decided to forgo tea or coffee. He was asleep almost before his head hit the pillow.

~ ~ ~

He came suddenly awake, momentarily disoriented until he remembered where he was. Through the thin wall of the accommodation trailer he heard the grinding sound of the warehouse’s electric door motors. Light from the floodlights illuminating the hardstand in front of the building brightened the warehouse interior as its doors slowly slid partway open.

What the hell
?
, Steve thought to himself. He glanced at the time display on the wall. It was just after three in the morning.
No-one’s supposed to be here until seven – and why didn’t the security system alert me? Someone must have entered the code to disarm it from the outside panel.
He unzipped his sleeping bag, got out of it and peered out of the tiny window to see a van drive through the doors. It was white, with a yellow stripe around its body. A man in light blue Service Corps-issue coveralls followed it through the doors, going to an auxiliary security panel bolted to a metal upright. The doors began to slide closed again as the warehouse lights came on.