He Who Dares: Book Two (The Gray Chronicals 2) (2 page)

“What do you think?” Conner did the same thing, flipping through the pages, a puzzled look on his face.

“I’d say the Admiral is giving you a chance to pick the people you want, rather than people sent by BruPer sir.”

“My lord! He’s going out on a limb there.”

“Yes, sir, he is, but, we have good men, very good men and woman scattered about the service, mostly in dead end positions to keep them out of harm’s way.”

“Deliberately?”

“Reading between the lines, I’d say so, sir.” He sipped his coffee a moment. “I have the impression that many of them were shunted off to out of the way posting because they were good, and certain people didn’t want them around.”

“So, the idea is to put all them into one place and see what happens.” He said, tapping the data pad.

“That’s the impression I get. Otherwise, why send you that?” He nodded towards the pad. “It could also mean he has something else for us to do, I suspect.”

“I hope it's not another ‘rescue’ operation.”

“If it is, I’m sure it will be better planned than the last one, and you will be as successful as before, sir.” Mike gave him a speculative look, wondering if he was poking gentle fun at him.  The Chief was an old poker player, and his face showed nothing of the respect he felt for the young man. That was something he felt for only a very few of the so-called officer class.

“So, what do we do first, Conner?”

“Sir?”

“Oh come on, you and I both know you have more experience in this than I do, so don’t give me any of the Irish blarney of yours.” Conner chuckled good-naturedly, and then nodded.

He immediately set to work sorting through the database of officers, quickly dividing them into groups of possible and non-starters. Once he’d done that, he re-sorted the possibilities. Within three days he had a short list to present to Mike, and one evening over a pot of coffee and a bottle of good Irish whisky they pared the last down, selecting the ones they felt could add something to Mike infant command. It was several days before the first of the crew he’d selected began trickling in, first was their Chief Engineer, a rather disheveled young Leftenant by the name of Adam Kincaid. He presented himself at Mike office, and the moment they concluded the introductions he appeared to dive headfirst into a mountain of repair orders Mike had set up as a test, and began prioritizing them.  While he did, Mike read his orders, listening to Adam muttered and chuckled to himself. He obviously made more sense out of them than Mike had. His hair was hanging over his ear, and his uniform looked as if it hadn’t been pressed since he left the Naval Academy. All in all, not very presentable, at least on face value. Mike looked deeper. His last posting was a shore station as Third Environmental Control Officer at a mining colony in the belt. Mike shook his head. This young man had engineering degrees up the kazoo, and it was beyond him why the Admiralty would waste that much talent on a no-brainier post at a mining camp. Mike was beginning to see what Conner was talking about, yet it made no sense to hide your best talent like that, even if it was a fuzzy faced teenager, who couldn’t dress himself properly.

“Good heavens, have you seen these damage reports, sir?” He asked, coming up for air at last. “Of course you have, silly question, sorry, sir.” He dived in again before Mike had time to answer.

Mike looked at Conner Blake, who smiled and poured coffee for the three of them.  That took a load off Mike, as he had more to contribute at his weekly meeting with Cynthia. It also gave him clout when arguing with some demanding Captains. The next to arrive was a dour faced man in his mid to late twenties. They went through the usual naval protocol of saluting and presenting orders.

“Leftenant Bushman, reporting as ordered, Sir.”

“Stand easy, Leftenant Bushman, Gable, isn’t it?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Good, pull up a chair and have a cup of coffee.”

“Sir?”

“Park it, Gable.”

“Yes, sir.” He parked it, looking somewhat bemused.

“You are our Chief Electrician engineer, so to speak, correct?”

“Yes, sir, Chief Electrical Engineer-Power Officer, but I’m not sure what my duties are here, sir.”

“You will be in charge of anything that had an electric charge in it or running through it.”

“Sir?”

“Electronics, power generation, communication, tactical, right down to the rechargeable batteries in my shaver.” Not that he had one.

“But, sir…” Just then, they hear someone pounding up the stair, and Adam came running through the door.

“Sorry, I’m late, sir, I was checking the power plant location on the ship.” He panted, forgetting to salute.

“No problem, pull up a chair and say hello to Gable Bushman, our Chief Power Officer.”

“Hello, I’m Kincaid, I mean Adams.” He held his hand out.” The bemused expression on Gable Bushman’s face deepened, as if he was out of his depth. “Glad you are here.”

“You might like to take a look at these, sir.” Conner Blake placed another copy of the specification data pad beside Leftenant Bushman, along with the coffee. Mike was beginning to have his doubt about this one. He looked at his orders and record while Gable flipped through the spec pad. It was even worse than Adam’s was.

His last posting was information officer in charge of base computer systems on Titan. His credentials didn’t seem that impressive, and he shot a quick look at Conner Blake. Conner just raised a questioning eyebrow at him and held up the coffee pot, ignoring the obvious question. That was two down, now all he had to do was divine what the Admiral was expecting from all this. Between the two of them, they did give him more time to work on the problem of hull number 696. He visited the fabrication shops, hull members, plate, environmental, electronics, and so on down the line. 

Over the next few weeks, he visited them all, seeing the complexity of a modern warship first hand. Most of the shop did nothing but repair or fabricate damaged or inoperable units, but they did have the capacity to fabricate new ships, but rarely did. He found it was the same with all of them, as at one time they did in fact build warship of all sizes. They still had the capacity by the look of all the mothballed equipment. Conner watched his Captain and began worrying about him. He was sleeping less and less, eating less, and spending an increasing amount of time haunting the workshop. That wasn’t good. He was becoming obsessed with building the ship on the old slipway. He’d wake up in the middle of the night, or the early hours of the morning to find Mike up and working at his port-a-comp terminal or sketching on a bit of paper. Eventually, things had to come to a head or he’d collapse from exhaustion. Things did come to a head after he didn’t come back to quarters one night. Conner and Gable went looking for him, finally locating him in the frame fabrication shop. They found him sitting on a stool in the dimly lit shops, staring into space, an intense look on his face.

“Sir?” He didn’t answer, and Conner took him by the arm. “Time to get some sleep, sir.”

“What?” Mike asked absently.

“Time to go to bed, sir.”

“No time, I’ve almost got it.”

“Got what, sir.”

“The design.”

“Oh? The design for what, sir?”

“The ship, I can see it.”

“Of course you can sir, but a night’s sleep would help.”

“Yes, yes, a night’s sleep.” Conner and Gable took him back to his quarters, and Conner put him to bed.

“Is he all right, Chief?” Gable asked, a worried look on his face.

“Yes, Leftenant. He’s all right, just a little worried about getting a certain ship finished.”

“Which one, there are so many of them.” Conner chuckled.

“Oh, nothing, sir, just a little puzzled someone dumped in his lap is all. Something to do with HMS Kiss”

“I hope he’s all right. HMS Kiss?” Gable asked, getting a slight smile in return as an answer.

“Nothing a good night’s sleep won’t cure, sir.”

Another three days passed, and everything began settling down into a steady rhythm, until a battered old Land Rover came slipping and sliding down the road between the fabrication sheds. All four wheels spraying slushy mud all over the side. All four looked up as someone came clumping up the stairs.

“I’m looking for First Leftenant Gray.” A little portly man asked, coming in.

“I’m Gray, what can I do for you?” He asked, thinking this might be the man from the Ministry.

“Thank goodness for that. My name is Tottingham, and I’ve spent a whole morning driving about this base, getting completely lost so many times I’ve lost count.”

“And the point of your travels, Mr. Tottingham?” Mike prompted, expecting the worse. The man started looking through his pockets, muttering to himself.

“Let's see, I have it here somewhere, where did I put it... Oh yes, here it is.” Mike took a deep breath.

“I have a shipment for you, Leftenant.”

“A shipment!” He looked blank. “A shipment of what?”

“Data pads, specification manuals for your power plant, main engines, the Ag components, and your warp drive.” Mike breathed a sigh of relief.

“Thank God for that.”

“Oh, that's just part of the shipment.”

“What else do you have?”

“Your main and secondary armament, navigation’s equipment, radar and sensors and just about every other major component you need, Captain.”

“Good God! Are you an angle?”

“No, sir, hardly that. I’m just the shipping supervisor.”

“Long way from your office, I bet.”

“Yes, sir, on this one. These were specially ordered with instruction from the R&D lab manager to handle the delivery directly to you.” A grin spread across his cherub face.

“Well...” Mike couldn’t think of anything to say for a moment. “We can definitely use whatever it is you have, I’m sure.”

“I can understand that, sir.”

“And the equipment itself?” Adam asked.

“Oh, I pick that up directly from the R&D facility for delivery the moment you give the word.  A few of the items are still being complete when I left, but they should be ready in the very near future.” He chuckled.

“So you’re not from the Ministry of Supply then?” Conner asked.

“Good heavens no. I’m from Gravatronics, and I must say, you must have some friend in high places, sir, you literally have the latest designs.” He beamed, happily, thankful that he’d managed to find the Leftenant at last. “Can I get the help of a couple of people to unload?” Between the five of them, they ferried two large boxes up to the officer while he read and signed the requisition documents, in triplicate of course. Mr. Tottenham last act was to hand Mike a key chip before he waved happily, and thumped back down the stairs.

“I wonder what this is all about.” Gable mused.

“Something definitely odd, those are top secret security boxes.” Adam said, running his hand over the top of one.

“That’s what this is for, to unlock them.” Mike murmured, looking at the key chip in the palm of his hand.

“Yes, I wouldn’t try opening them without it.”

“How come, Adam?” Mike had never seen anything like this before.

“The lid has a very powerful electromagnet built into it, any attempt to open the box without the security key and it zaps the data pads. Either wipes them clean or garbles the data.”