Midshipman Henry Gallant in Space (The Henry Gallant Saga) (3 page)

“Yes, please.”

They prowled the Combat Information Center together, squinting under the glaring lights of the brain center of the battle cruiser.

Howard pointed, “Over there is the sensing equipment; including seven different types of active radars and four passive telescopes. On this side of the compartment is astrophysics and plotting. They compute the course and speed of contacts. Every object we track has a specific emission signature that we can identify. The spectrum of our emissions is strictly controlled. We restrict all electromagnetic emissions in order to prevent others from detecting and tracking us. Engineering plays a major role in controlling emission, but so does communication.”

Gallant was familiar with some of the detection arrays from his academy classes. The various active scanning radars were broken down by frequency and pulse rate. He recognized the optical telescope instrument controls, as well as the x-ray and gamma detection controls.

Howard waved, “Over here is the communication array, including both internal and external gear. The information flow we regulate is critical for command and control. One of our most clandestine communication devices is this burst transmitter. It emits a focused beam only the recipient can detect. We handle priority and action messages. The ultimate responsibility for carrying out action orders is the captain's, of course, but he knows where to come if any messages are lost or gabbled.”

“Speaking of responsibility, the turnover report showed classified files and messages at one-hundred percent integrity with zero deficiencies,” commented Gallant.

“That’s completely accurate. Our equipment can detect, decrypt and translate every letter of a message even at minimal signal strength. Our encryption and decoding equipment is the best and we have been meticulous in documenting our work.”

“The unclassified monitored message traffic was also marked one-hundred percent with no defects. Can you tell me how that is possible?”

“Even the best equipment has limitations. For unclassified monitoring of routine communication, we can keep almost perfect records.”

“Almost, but not one-hundred percent?”

“Well, if the signal is logged out before it has faded to the degradation level we do not have to account for it as lost information.”

“And Neumann was able to make that standard practice for the division?”

Howard shrugged.

"What about that decryption equipment that those two men are working. The turnover sheet showed one-hundred percent equipment operational with no deficiencies.”

Howard dropped his smile. “Haggman and Curtis are repairing the main long distance transmitter. That’s one of the things you should have asked Mr. Neumann, before signing the turnover.”

“True, but I’m asking you now.”

Howard’s face was a rampant contortion of conflict.

“Could you give me the unofficial version, Chief?” Gallant realized he was asking for a leap of trust, he hadn’t yet earned.

To his credit, Howard revealed, “Well, according to the captain’s standing orders, equipment malfunctions must be reported no later than noon each day. Mr. Neumann orders were that we do not report any equipment out of service until noon. Instead, he required us to drop everything and repair any faulty equipment immediately. That prevented placing it out of service on the central status report.”

“But that means others wouldn’t know they couldn’t depend on that equipment being available.”

Howard look troubled, but didn’t add anything.

“What about maintenance? Is everything perfectly on schedule with no deficiencies there too?”

“There are lots of demands throughout the ship, and equipment down for maintenance interferes with operations. Mr. Neumann found that there is a thirty day grace period for exceeding a maintenance due date, if parts have been placed on order. He believed in ordering plenty of spares, even if we have some on hand."

“How much of the equipment is actually behind their maintenance schedule, unofficially of course?"

“Eleven percent.”

“Wow,” Gallant gasped in amazement.

“It’s your division now, Mr. Gallant. What are your orders?” asked Howard, looking to take the measure of his new boss.

Gallant reflected for a few seconds, and then said, “Any equipment out of service will to be reported to CIC, immediately. It will remain there until it is fully tested and back on-line.”

A smile returned to Howard's lips.

“Also, you and I will work out a maintenance plan that will get us back on schedule as soon as possible, despite the inconvenience to normal operations.”

Chief Howard looked at Gallant with a sympathetic eye. “If you’re feeling a little overwhelmed just now, let me assure you, sir,” He wore an ear to ear grin, “it’ll get worse.” It seemed obvious that the man loved what he did.

Gallant hoped he wouldn’t regret his decision. He put on a questioning expression, “I’d appreciate any help you could give me, Chief.”

Howard said, “I’d be glad to help, any way I can.”

“Thank you, Chief. I'd appreciate that.”

“Okay. Let’s get started and I’ll show you how to keep things running without losing any action messages. That at least will keep the captain from shooting you right off the bat.”

Gallant knew he was going to like Chief Howard.

By the end of the first week, Gallant was again standing in the XO’s office.

The XO thundered, "What are you doing with the Communication Division, Gallant? In one week you’ve logged more equipment out of service for repairs and maintenance then Mr. Neumann did in the six months he was division leader. And what’s up with the garbled messages at long distance. We never had that trouble before. Are you letting Chief Howard do his job?”

The XO’s admonishment worried him, but he held firm to his decision for running the division, “We are only conducting necessary maintenance and repairs, sir.”

The XO was livid. “I want you to live and breathe maintenance and repair until everything is back to peak efficiency, just like you found it. If not, I will have you relieved and your record will reflect this failure. Is that clear enough for you?”

Despite his concerns, Gallant kept his own counsel, and said, “Yes, sir.”

The Eagle was a fighter of sleek elegance, lightning speed, and explosive power. Gallant smiled the moment he laid eyes upon it. The slow, clunky, single-seat nuclear trainer he flew on Mars defied comparison. He began to appreciate that re-qualifying as a fighter pilot on this ship was going to be challenging.

The F-715 Eagle had twin anti-matter engines. It was an all-planets tactical fighter designed by Mars Douglas Corporation to gain and maintain combat superiority against any comparable spacecraft. Fully combat-ready, it included an anti-missile missile (AMM-3 called Mongoose) designed for defense against incoming ballistic missiles. In addition, it had a 1.21 GigaWatt (GW) xenon-argon pulsed laser cannon.

The F-715 was sixty-six feet long, twenty-four feet high, with a wing span of thirty-six feet. Fully loaded and armed it weighed twenty eight tons. Its power plant consisted of two anti-proton nuclear fission engines capable of 0.01c for short periods and 0.004c for sustained travel. It had a titanium honeycomb fuselage with a shoulder cantilever wing. The fuselage, fins, and thrusters were made of similar material and covered by a carbon composite skin. It could detect and track spacecraft and small high-speed meteorites at great distances with unprecedented accuracy.

The pilot and his astrogator sat in tandem with the pilot in the forward seat. There was sufficient room for the crew to stand and maneuver within the cockpit, albeit with grueling effort. In addition, a small bunk bed was crammed under the crew’s seats for rest during extended flights. The remainder of the craft was occupied by engines, equipment, and supplies.

Midshipman Sandy Barrington was assigned by the XO as his flight instructor for re-qual. Thin, nervous, with exaggerated lines around her mouth she was a young woman who took her daily life very seriously. She was an expert pilot and was intent on demonstrating the Eagle's capabilities to Gallant in detail. She allowed him to get the feel of flying the fighter under her guidance.

“OK, Gallant, move into position for catapult launch,” she ordered.

Gallant slowly maneuvered the craft over the hangar deck to the guide slot for the starboard catapult. It was possible to launch using only Eagle’s engines, but that was allowed only during battle conditions or emergencies because the exhaust heat scorched the bay area and required extensive cleanup.

When he was in position, she allowed him to take off and fly short hops around
Repulse
while she lectured him, or demonstrated various capabilities. This activity lasted for several hours every day when Gallant was not otherwise occupied.

Work clobbered him. Gallant spent every minute he could with Howard and Haggman working detailed plans to get equipment up to par with minimal downtime. He helped read the repair manuals while the men worked to replace circuits, or modify software.

Slowly, the CIC status board reflected an improvement, but Gallant was falling behind his AI scheduled assignments and simulation exams for his fighter re-quals.

Despite Gallant’s best efforts, Barrington was relentlessly critical of his performance and she piled on the simulation assignments to supplement actual flight time.

Over the next few days, Gallant found division work melding with his re-qual study and training simulations, until it all blended into a seamless blur of constant activity. His occasional brushes with other midshipmen were strictly professional and impersonal.

One awkward moment came when he literally walked into Kelsey Mitchel while turning a corridor.

“Oh, sorry, I wasn’t looking …, I was thinking about …, Auh …,” he said. Then with one final, “Sorry,” he bounded away, leaving her there speechless.

Nearly two weeks after his last visit, Gallant was once again in the XO’s office.

“Gallant, I don’t know what I’m going to do with you. You're behind in your re-qual assignments and you failed your last two simulation exams. I’m marking you deficient in your studies. Your final re-qual exam is tomorrow. Fail that and you'll be sent packing back to Mars.”

Gallant said, “I understand, sir.”

Three weeks had passed since he reported aboard. Gallant was still working diligently to complete all his studies for re-qual, in addition to keeping up a training program to become ship's duty officer, as well as to meet his obligations as a division officer. He was grateful when Chief Howard, more than once, saved an important message from going astray.

Late that night, Gallant tried to study in the midshipmen's common room. The limited space was occupied, so he reluctantly made his way to the wardroom. It was acceptable for officers to spread out their daily work needs there when meals were not being served. He flopped into a chair and put his feet up on the adjacent one.

His Eagle qualification exam was in the morning at 0600. He hoped to finish some practice questions before turning in. Balancing his study tablet in his lap, he worked through a practice series. Then, he activated the tablets flight simulator and practiced recovery maneuvers for a few accident scenarios.

Lt. Mather wandered into the wardroom, nodded to Gallant and punched in his authorization code on the galley panel for some late night food.

The auto-server popped up and displayed a tray of synthetic snack bars along with a few pieces of real fruit and a small portion of nuts. Mather picked at the nuts and fruit, leaving the synthetics for last.

During deep space travel there was always plenty of space to store synthetic food ingredients that could be turned into edible materials. The trouble was that human nature yearned for the real thing as much as possible. In general, real food was stockpiled for the fleet at various space stations. But here in Jupiter orbit, the cost of transporting bulk food materials so far from Earth was prohibitive.

Gallant's stomach growled, but snacks were not a midshipman privilege. He would have liked some exam advice too. But he knew better than to ask.

Mather sat for several minutes absent-mindedly tapping the edge of the table. Finally, he got up and left without offering Gallant either.

He was about to call it a night when the XO came in and stopped him. He scolded, "Where are your personnel fitness reports? They're late. I want them first thing in the morning."

Before Gallant could respond, the XO went bounding off to deal with another of his endless litany of problems.

“All part of the job,” Gallant said to himself and got on with the task.

He popped several stim-pills for an energy boost and began working on fitness reports for his division’s personnel. Mostly he relied on Chief Howard's draft notes, but he made sure he spent enough time on evaluating and ranking each individual in his division to feel comfortable with the final grades he gave them. After a couple of hours, he was still only half done.

He thought that if he decided to put the files away and hit the sack, he would be able to get a few hours of sleep before his re-qual exam.

On the other hand, the XO hadn't looked like he was going to be very accommodating. So Gallant worked through the night to finish the personnel records. He put them in the XO's cyber in-basket just before the morning watch changed.

Then he sat on his bunk bed and downed synthetic stim-coffee.

At 0545, a virtual computer display popped up over his head and blared, “Attention Midshipman Gallant, you have fifteen minutes to complete your morning ablutions and dress. Report to Squadron 111 hangar to take your requalification exam including flight test.”

The usual morning mad dash began.

Before long, Gallant was in the squadron hangar completing his flight test under Barrington’s critical eye.

Afterward, Gallant passed Chief Howard in the corridor.

Howard gave him a questioning look.