No Honor in Death (30 page)

"You can't take the whole corrupt bunch on by yourself.  Not if your own superiors are against you."

Siobhan smiled cruelly.  "Who said anything about taking all of them on?  What I want to do, no, make that must do, is clear the air on the
Stingray
.  And that's within the scope of my abilities.  Whatever happens in deep space happens within the confines of the ship.  By the time we're in physical contact with civilization again, it'll be too late for 'them' to do anything about it, and they'll simply cut their losses.  That's the way these people work.  But we have to return to civilization, and that means we have to win in the next few days."

"And to win, we have to make the crew believe again, feel secure on their ship," Pushkin completed the thought, slowly nodding.  The fear still remained in his eyes, but a new, hard look of determination was gradually pushing it out.

He took a deep breath and then exhaled slowly.

"Okay, Captain.  I'm tired of being scared.  If I hang, then so be it.  At least I'll hang with a clean conscience."

For the next half-hour, Siobhan listened to her First Officer, fascinated by his story, his theories and suspicions.  She didn't interrupt him once, letting the flow of words come in a continuous stream.  He proved to have a sharp, insightful mind, and the ability to analyze and form accurate theories with widely scattered bits of information.  But what intrigued Siobhan most, was that his ideas matched hers with frightening precision.

When Pushkin finally ran out of words, he sat back and looked at Siobhan, his eyes steady, his jaw set.

"Well, what now, Captain?"

She slowly shook her head.  "I don't know, Gregor.  I'll have to think about what you said, and what we do with it.  In the meantime, speak to those crewmembers you trust, and tell them you told me, that I know.  If nothing else, spreading the word may make people feel a bit better."

He nodded again.

"Don't worry," she gave him a tight smile, "we'll get this sorted out soon enough.  Our duty to the ship demands it."

She rose, suppressed a yawn that had more to do with nervousness than fatigue and stretched her long arms in front of her.

"Time for some sleep, I think.  Good night, Gregor."

Back in her cabin, Siobhan was too restless to sleep.  She paced the small room, lost in thought, for a long time.  Then, she checked the duty roster and smiled, her plan taking shape at last.  She touched the intercom.

"Lieutenant Kowalski to the Captain's quarters as soon as possible."

"Acknowledged, sir," the younger woman's voice replied a few seconds later.  "I'll be there in a few minutes."

"Good.  Dunmoore, out."

Siobhan didn't have to wait long.  Slightly out of breath, Kathryn Kowalski appeared at her door less than two minutes after the summons.

"Come in, Lieutenant.  Sit."  Siobhan waved at a chair by the desk.  "Have you given the matter of ECM some thought?"

"Yes, sir."  She nodded, her eyes looking warily at the Captain, as if she wasn't sure of her ground.  Then, with a mental shrug Kowalski dug into her bag and produced a hand-held sensor, similar to the ones the boarding party had used to such good effect.  Wordlessly, she placed it on the desk and touched a button.  Nothing overt seemed to happen, but Kowalski glanced at the sensor's screen and nodded, apparently satisfied.

"I assumed, sir, that you wanted something to mask conversations inside the ship, rather than electronic counter-measures aimed at the Shreharis, who wouldn't fail to notice us in their space anyway we put it."

Siobhan smiled with wry amusement.  "You assumed correctly, Kathryn."

Kowalski grinned with apparent self-satisfaction and seemed to take the Captain using her first name in stride.  "Then, sir, what you have before you is a totally illegal, jury-rigged and impossible to duplicate full spectrum scrambler."  At Siobhan's questioning gaze, she continued.  "What I've done is modify the sensor's scanning emitter to produce an inaudible wave which conflicts with human speech sound waves as they're picked up by a listening device.  The speech waves are scrambled out of all recognition.  It's pretty crude and won't stand-up to a sophisticated filtering program, but I damn well know we don't have such a program aboard.  It's something the spooks use and guard pretty jealously.  The scrambler is good for a radius of about two metres, which'll cover most of your day cabin."

"Well done, Lieutenant.  You have hidden talents begging to come out into the limelight."

Kowalski's smile became self-conscious and she glanced away.  "It's all a question of motivation, I guess."

"And getting at the watchers is good motivation?"

"Watchers?  Oh, right.  I did tell you to beware  the SSB, didn't I."  The smile vanished, though the eyes remained on the ship's clock ticking away quietly on the shelf.  Kowalski sighed.  "Hell, they can't understand us so I might as well tell you.  It's been itching to come out ever since I pegged you for a
real
Captain and not another Forenza."

"You were, ah, wary."  Somehow, the word 'scared' didn't seem to fit Kowalski.

"Yes.  I still am, but I can't keep this to myself any more.  I want to have a normal career one day, and leave the
Stingray
behind me.  And the only way I can do that -"

"Is chase away the demons," Siobhan cut in.  "It seems to be catching, thank God.  First Rownes, then Mister Pushkin, now you."  Kowalski's head came up at the First Officer's name.  "Yes," Siobhan continued, "Mister Pushkin has made a clean breast of it." 
Or at least as much as he could stomach in one session, which was still a lot
.  "For pretty much the same reasons as you.  But why don't you give me your version.  Feel free to speculate."

Siobhan Dunmoore nodded grimly when Kowalski fell silent, after a long, almost confessional discourse.  The stories matched, even though Kowalski's appraisal of Pushkin wasn't quite as flattering as Rownes'.  While it still didn't provide Siobhan with any proof, it reinforced some the ideas she'd been tossing around.

The Signals Officer, however, seemed to feel none of the self-loathing and disgust that had filled Pushkin when he spoke about his role under Forenza.  True, the First Officer did bear more responsibility than Kowalski, but the young woman seemed to have a greater toughness, a better ability to absorb the shocks and keep her emotions under control.  For the first time, Siobhan caught a glimpse of the fire and steel within her, and knew, if given half a chance, that Kathryn Kowalski would go far in the Fleet.  She had an uncanny realism and a sense of proportion one usually expected in older, more experienced officers.

"Kathryn," Siobhan spoke softly,  "as I told Mister Pushkin, I do not intend to leave matters as they are.  But I've got to catch the watchers first, and get them out of the way, before I can convince the crew that Forenza's long-distance hold on the ship is finally over." 
And do a few other highly satisfying things too, come to thing of it.  Whoever said revenge was a dish best eaten cold didn't get it.
  "I need your help to flush them out before they decide that I've become too much of a liability.  And I need to do it within the next day, because I could easily go the same route as Vasser and Melchor: have an accident.  During a battle, that's pretty damn easy to arrange."

Kowalski nodded her understanding.  When Siobhan described what she wanted, the Signals Officer smiled.  "That might just work, sir."

Unfortunately, they didn't get any further.  Time had passed more quickly than Siobhan thought.

"Captain, Officer of the Watch here." Devall's lean face appeared on screen.  "We emerge at the convergence point in five minutes."

"Get the ship back to full battle stations.  I'm on my way."

SEVENTEEN

By the time Siobhan and Kowalski got to the bridge, the lighting had returned to battle red and Devall reported the ship ready.  The tension had risen to a fine pitch and Siobhan caught several crewmembers anxiously glancing at the count-down to emergence ticking away in the lower right corner of the screen.  If an enemy had them pinned, he would strike in the seconds after emergence, when both humans and machines were disoriented by the brutal transition between universes.

Unconsciously, Siobhan braced herself in the chair as the final seconds flashed by.  Then, the sickening nausea hit her like a sledgehammer and her world became flawed, indistinct, hazy.  The sensation lasted the time of a few deep breaths, then the momentarily stunned crew recovered and plunged into a flurry of activity.

"Nothing within sensor range, save for the convoy, sir," Devall reported first.

"All systems green,"  Pushkin chimed in.

"Good.  Sailing Master, verify the convoy's course and plot a pursuit on their exact vector. Helm, get the FTL drives cycled and ready.  Guns, get those torpedoes armed."  Siobhan smiled cruelly.  "Let's go draw first blood, people."

Maybe she could do nothing about her internal enemies for now, but she could release her pent-up frustration and anger at the Shreharis.

"Ready," the Sailing Master and Cox'n announced almost simultaneously.

"Helm, engage."

Vision distorted as stomachs lurched in protest, and the
Stingray
sped off in her own FTL bubble again, on the exact course taken by the slower convoy.  This time, the wait would be much shorter, and manoeuvring more delicate.  Siobhan had to place her ship within striking range of the last transport in line, but remain outside the sensor range of the two trailing escorts.

"Mister Shara, what's your estimate of time to intercept."

The thin Lieutenant cocked her head to one side but did not turn to face Siobhan.  Then, she said, "If they keep the same speed and don't emerge, one hour."

It tallied with Dunmoore's own gut-feeling.  "They won't emerge, Mister Shara, not unless they have a compelling reason."

"Sir?"  Pushkin looked at the Captain with a questioning frown.

"Standard Shrehari procedure, Mister Pushkin,"  Siobhan replied, smiling.  "They emerge for re-calibration and to change to a new tack every six hours.  That means in two hours from now.  We'll have them before then."

Unable to sit still this close to the fight and unwilling to appear antsy in front of the others, Siobhan rose.  She looked unconcerned as she glanced around the bridge.  "I'll be in my ready room, Mister Pushkin.  Mister Kowalski, as per our early conversation, if you could manage it within the next hour, I'd be grateful."

"Consider it done," the younger woman replied, nodding.

Pushkin gave them a questioning glance, but saw the warning in Dunmoore's eye and understood this had to do with something other than the battle run.  He held his peace.

Alone in the ready room, Siobhan steeled herself and sat down, drawing the computer terminal towards her.  She opened her personal log and began typing in the routine daily entry.  Then, she gathered her thoughts, forcefully pushing aside the coming battle, and set her trap.

I have learned
, she wrote,
that my predecessor has been guilty of the most discreditable neglect of duty imaginable.  According to the statements of two officers, one of whom quite senior, and one experienced rating, Helen Forenza has, while refusing to seek out and engage the enemy, alienated most of the crew, pitted the officers against each other and played favourites in a manner too disturbing to make public without sworn testimony to back it up.

Fingers flying over the keyboard, Siobhan added all the details she knew, including Forenza's abuse of power, her threats and the high rate of supposed suicide on the frigate.

This explains, in great part, the terrible state of the ship and the crew's non-existent morale when I took command.  Both have since improved, the state of the ship considerably, and the morale sufficiently to function.  When we return to port, I hope to have learned more from my crew and gained their trust sufficiently that they will agree to testify against Commander Forenza at the Disciplinary Board hearing, if it isn't concluded by then.  If it is and she's out of the Navy, I'll at least try to have their statements read into the record.

The statements will also destroy Rear-Admiral Kaleri's credibility, since Forenza was a friend and trusted subordinate, by all accounts.  The obvious excuse that Kaleri had no idea what went on aboard the ship during the time of Forenza's command won't wash, as that is also a clear admission of neglect of duty.  In a just universe, Forenza and Kaleri should hang for their failure as officers and commanders.  But there is more to the
Stingray
's saga than just an incredibly incompetent captain, raised to the post by political patronage and protected by the ill-advised friendship of a Flag Officer.  Both were also involved in something much worse.

Siobhan sat back, organizing her thoughts for the next part of her log entry, the one which dealt with speculation and theory, the one for which they had no proof, only circumstantial evidence.  And very strong suspicions.  Unexpectedly, her intercom buzzed.  She swore at the interruption.

"Dunmoore."

"Pushkin, sir.  The Chief Engineer reports a problem with the anti-matter injection controller."

"How serious?"

"According to Tiner, plenty.  I'm in engineering right now, sir.  Devall has the con," he added.

"On my way."  Siobhan cut the transmission and cursed volubly.  If they couldn't maintain FTL speed, their prey would slip away while they became a very vulnerable and isolated target far from the nearest Starfleet unit.  She glanced at her incomplete log entry and saved it before leaving the bridge deck for engineering, deep down in the frigate's hull.  It would have to wait.  As she stepped into the lift, Siobhan's sensitive and well-tuned ship-sense felt a change in the drives' vibrations and she knew that Tiner was right.  This was no ordinary malfunction.

The Chief Engineer and Pushkin met her by the heavy bulkhead separating the engineering compartment from the rest of the ship.  Under the circumstances, Siobhan dispensed with pleasantries.  She nodded at Tiner.

"Report."

Tiner's face, for once, showed more worry than nervousness.  "Both anti-matter injection controllers are approaching the red zone.  We've already got sparking in the starboard one and I don't think I'll be able to hold them much longer.  If we get a catastrophic failure..."

"Why the breakdown?"  Siobhan struggled to hide her frustration, lest she fluster the Chief Engineer into agitated uselessness.

"I really have no idea, sir.  The units are old, but haven't reach end-of-life yet.  As best I can tell is that the command circuits are failing under load."

"Including the redundancies?"  Siobhan asked, incredulous.

Surprisingly it was Pushkin who replied.  "Aye, Captain.  The design was never a great success.  The primary and secondary circuits are too intimately linked.  In most cases, primary failures spread rapidly to the secondary.  We have to take the engines off-line and pull the controllers."

"Damn!  Okay."  Siobhan turned to the nearest intercom panel.  "Bridge, Dunmoore here.  Cut out the jump drives, but continue on the same course at maximum sub-light.  We have some repairs to do."

"Aye, aye, sir," Devall replied promptly.

"And keep your eyes peeled for Imps,"  she added, unnecessarily, almost savagely.  "Dunmoore out."  A second or so later, they were gripped by emergence nausea.

"How are we set on spares?"

Pushkin grimaced.  "One spare controller, sir.  Just one.  The damn things aren't supposed to fail in tandem."

"Did anyone tell
them
that?"  Siobhan's lips thinned in frustration.  "Unless your wizards can fix one of the two busted ones, we're essentially stuck behind enemy lines, Mister Tiner."

"I'm afraid so, Captain."  The Chief Engineer blinked nervously.  "But we'll manage, I'm sure.  Cannibalize one to fix the other."

"How long?"

"I'll put part of the team on installing the spare, and the rest on fixing one of the two damaged units.  I'd say three hours."

Siobhan mentally calculated the range to the convoy and bit back a particularly juicy oath.  They'd probably lose it, but there was no helping that.  She nodded curtly at the Chief Engineer.

"Better get going then.  Coming Mister Pushkin?"

"Aye, sir."

Back in the passage beyond engineering's thick bulkheads, Pushkin surprised Siobhan by swearing softly.

"You know, Captain, this is one of those times where I could really start believing the
Stingray
is a jinxed ship.  We're within an hour of ambushing an unsuspecting convoy and zap!  Both anti-matter injection controllers crap out at the same time.  It's like the universe is conspiring against us."

Siobhan grunted.  "The universe, or someone aboard the ship?"

"Sir?"  Pushkin stopped and stared at Dunmoore.

She smiled bitterly.  "Creeping paranoia, Gregor.  My persecution complex has grown to the point where these mechanical failures look like a contrived and personal attack."  But as she spoke, the idea seemed a lot less far-fetched than it sounded.  Sure the frigate was old and had been badly maintained for a long time.  The amount of repairs engineering carried out watch after watch attested to that.  But two critical failures at once did stretch credibility.  Ships only carried one replacement injection controller, even if it used two at a time, one per drive, because the chances of dual failure without warning were on the order of one in several million.

"So what do we do if Tiner can't repair one of the two busted units?"

Siobhan shrugged.  "Take the risk of an unbalanced FTL jump home, with only one drive.  No tender or repair ship is going to come out to us here."

This time it was Pushkin's turn to grunt, but he didn't challenge her statement.  Risky as an unbalanced jump was, remaining in Shrehari space was infinitely worse.  Until Tiner pulled the units and checked them over, they could only wait, and hope.  The First Officer no longer even thought of resuming their pursuit.  For him, the convoy had already slipped beyond sensor range and jumped on a new, unknown tack.

"Coming in for a coffee?"

Pushkin looked up and realized they were back on the bridge deck, level with the ready room hatch.  He shrugged.  "Sure.  I have nothing better to do for the next while."

Siobhan gave him a tight, commiserating smile.  "Then I suppose it'll be better if we both fret in private.  Keeps the peasants quiet."

Pushkin snorted softly.  "Ain't that the truth, Captain."

Sipping coffee in silence a few minutes later, Siobhan's mind returned to what she had termed her paranoia.  She touched the intercom panel.

"Dunmoore to Tiner."

A male voice replied, "Engineering, Petty Officer Frelivo, Captain.  Mister Tiner is up to her ears in the injector housing. Can  I help you?"

"Ask the Chief Engineer to examine both controllers closely for signs of anything that would not be normal in this type of system failure."

"Aye, aye, sir," Frelivo acknowledged, though he sounded dubious.  "Can I tell Mister Tiner exactly what you're looking for, sir?  It might help."

"Not really, PO.  I'm not an engineer.  Just ask her to examine both controllers side by side.  If there's something to be found, she'll know it when she sees it."

"It'll be done, sir."

"Dunmoore, out."

Pushkin stared at her over the rim of his mug, heavy eyebrows raised in question.  Siobhan made a face and shrugged, feeling foolish now that she'd actually gone out and displayed her latent paranoia.  They spent the next ten minutes in uneasy silence, neither wanting to speak, neither comfortable with the forced intimacy of the moment.  Siobhan rationalized her tension and unease away by reminding herself that even though she and Pushkin were essentially sitting on their thumbs, the crew would think the two had locked themselves away to plan and plot.  It would do no harm to Pushkin's standing among the officers and non-coms.

Eventually, unable to stand the silence any more, Siobhan began a surprisingly vigorous discussion on tactics with Pushkin, and the ice between them melted that much more.  When he wanted to, the First Officer came off as an intelligent, well-spoken man.  Finally though, the intercom chirped and Tiner's voice came on, cutting short their light-hearted argument on the relative merits of retrograde sub-light action.

"Go ahead," Siobhan replied, repressing the urge to jump down the intercom and shake information out of the Chief Engineer.

"I think I've found what you're looking for, sir."  Siobhan's lean face flashed a look of pure triumph at Pushkin, her paranoia vindicated.  "You might want to come down and see this yourself.  It'll be easier to explain."

"We're on our way."

Dunmoore forced herself to keep a steady, unhurried pace as she led Pushkin back to engineering, but there was no mistaking the aura of impatience and anticipation that surrounded her.  Tiner met them by the bulkhead and guided them straight to her office.