Kas shook his head and suppressed his own urge to pace. “So," he said in a tone tinged with irony, "I’ll be leading a caravan of military vessels from all over inhabited space, all hoping to beat me to the prize — or to take it away. With the Rekesh completely dead that may not be too hard, especially if a few of them gang up.”
Pankin laughed aloud. “Sheol, Captain, if it were easy, any of our parade ground popinjays could do it!” His expression sobered. “I know what I’m asking, but we must get the Rekesh back. Or destroy her. If one of the Independent Systems gets her — or the Glory — it could destabilize known space and precipitate that war I was talking about. And we’re not ready.
“I’ve done what I can. We can’t send you on another battle cruiser or any other military vessel for that matter. Sending a military vessel into someone else’s space is called invasion; and there’s no real chance anyone would give us permission. They want to get there first, remember?”
Pankin rose and began pacing again. Kas suppressed a smile. He wondered how often they had to replace Pankin's carpet. He sobered as Pankin continued, “We have to get sneaky,” Pankin continued. “Now, that’s not something we’re particularly good at, but we have to try. We’ve refitted a DIN-class combat hauler for you. They've been around for centuries, and surplus hulls are common. She’s military surplus, not military, which means she’s not armed — officially.”
He stopped, and his gaze was unreadable as it settled on Kas. “We have gone to some trouble to conceal weapons systems, but we had to be careful. If you're boarded and your weapons spotted, you’d be shot as pirates. Or identified as fleet, which would be worse.”
Kas’s frown was back. “It takes over a hundred people to make a skeleton crew for a stellar class. It takes about four to run a DIN class. How can I explain that many people?”
Pankin resumed pacing. “We’ve thought about that. You’re still going to have to use that famous imagination of yours. Starhopper is being fitted with some three hundred fifty cold-sleep units. Your papers will indicate you’ve contracted to provide colonists for a colony being founded by Farterra. Fake, of course, so you’ll have to steer well clear of Farterra. The papers will show your cargo is the gutter-scrapings from half a dozen Empire worlds. Being an outerworlder will actually help. Your crew will be outerworlder as well.”
Again he stopped and turned to Kas. “We can't do that with the crew for the Rekesh. Battle cruisers are glamorous assignments. Wealthy families buy billets for their playboy sons. I’ve done what I can. I had my chief of staff, Captain Froud; select volunteers with technical competence. Since Froud cannot be bribed, I think you’ll find them to be the best we have.”
He frowned. “Technical expertise alone doesn’t guarantee a good officer or man. You’re getting a hand-picked crew, captain, but that doesn’t mean you won’t have some screw-ups, or snobbish popinjays.
“That’s not all,” Pankin continued. “About fifty of those people won’t be fleet at all. They’re civilians, with skills you’ll need. A medical team, for instance. They’ll make sure the Rekesh is thoroughly decontaminated before you bring her home. You’ll also have techs recruited from shipyards that’ll bring her back to life. You’ll have an entire new AI core since shutting down an AI is no easy task. Rekesh ’s Third probably destroyed hers. I've included experts in life support and propulsion to get you operational as quickly as possible.”
Kas' background had left him uncomfortable dealing with civilians. “Couldn’t fleet techs handle it, Admiral?”
Pankin shook his head. “ Rekesh has been shut down for a century. Nobody can predict what it’ll take to bring her back. They’re all civilians, but all except a few of the medical team have worked for the fleet, or at least been around the military. They won’t be completely illogical and unreasonable. Try not to push too many out an airlock, will you?”
Kas shifted uncomfortably in his chair and smiled weakly. “I’ll try, sir.”
“Well, I can help a little," Pankin replied. "If you complete your mission, you will bring home two ships instead of one. That gave me enough juice to push through a promotion. Congratulations, Commodore!”
Kas’s thoughts whirled. Commodore! He’d long ago resigned himself to the fact that he’d never get his flag. He gulped. “Thank you, sir! I…” He sought frantically for the words to express his feelings. Pankin would take a lot of heat over this.
Pankin noticed his discomfort and studiously avoided looking at Kas as he rummaged on the cluttered desk. “Ah, here we are!” He brandished a gaudy certificate and a pair of shoulder boards with one star on each. With a broad grin, he rose. “Allow me, Commodore!”
Kas jumped to his feet and struggled to regain his composure as Pankin pinned on the new boards. He backed up a step, then took Kas’ hand and shook it enthusiastically.
Kas struggled to regain his voice, if not his composure. “I… I don’t know what to say, sir…”
Pankin stepped back around the real wood desk. “Don’t worry about it.” He looked thoughtful for a moment. “I’ve given you that star for a reason. On the trip back, if you get that far, you’ll be commanding two ships, technically a flotilla. You can retain command of the Rekesh, of course, but you’ll have to appoint someone to command Starhopper. You’ll be in a very unusual situation. You’ll have several command-qualified officers to select from. Be careful in your selection. You’ve never had to command at second hand — but that’s what flag officers do. If you must jump him several steps past more senior officers, do it. In a non-regulation, offbeat operation like this, you need someone who will work with you, not against you.
“I won’t lie to you,” he said, “You'll be hated, not only for Lu-Jenks, but for getting this promotion. There are those who will do their best to see you fail, and show me I chose the wrong man.”
Kas nodded solemnly. “Thank you for the advice, sir.”
Pankin chuckled. “It’s worth what you paid for it. Now, take this,” he tossed a record chip at Kas, “and get the Sheol out of here. Some of us actually have work to do!”
Kas started for the door. “Oh, and Commodore,” Pankin called. “If there’s the slightest possibility of Rekesh falling into other hands, take no chances. Push her into the sun. We’d like to have her, but the Empire’s gotten along without her for a century. We don’t need her that badly.”
Kas snapped to attention. “Aye, aye, sir. I’ll take no chances.”
The record chip was a high-security type, and he assumed it contained his orders and the coordinates of the system containing the derelict Vir Rekesh.
Kas snapped a crisp salute and left, head high, grinning broadly.
Chapter 2
Kas decided to examine Starhopper, the freighter that was to take him on his mission. He had to find out what he had to work with. He summoned a sky cab. Luckily, Pankin had been in his fleet HQ office and not the more ornate office he maintained on the grounds of the Palace.
Prime’s Fleet starfield occupies over twenty square miles halfway around the planet from the Palace. It is surrounded by the base housing fleet headquarters. The entire complex occupies more than a hundred square miles.
Prime itself is a bit larger than old Earth, but with a surface gravity of 0.8. Prime’s sun is a bit larger than Sol, and its light tends slightly more toward white. Its overall climate is pleasant except in a narrow band at the equator, where the heat becomes oppressive. Naturally, fleet HQ is on the comparatively low-value real estate of the equator.
As he crossed the shipyard landing field, puffing with exertion and cursing the sweat trickling into his eyes, he cast a suspicious glance at the yellow-tinged pale blue sky. Over the years, he’d become much less uncomfortable with the open spaces of a planetary surface, but Kas still rather disapproved of weather. It seemed such a messy way to do things, compared to the controlled environment in which he’d grown up.