For the last twenty-six years he had gratefully served the emperor and the fleet.
For a while, it had looked as though he’d lose his Fleet refuge. Now…
He pulled his attention back to finding his ship. His ship. He’d been afraid he’d never have a ship again. When he finally saw it, though, his heart fell. The berth assigned to Starhopper was occupied by one of the shabbiest examples of a military-surplus DIN-class that he’d ever seen.
She was 200 meters long, a stubby cylinder 50 meters in diameter. Her inertial drive drive engines were mounted to four sponsons spaced around her stern, along with her landing jacks. The DIN class combat hauler was the largest ship that could land — anything larger was strictly orbit-to-orbit. This one looked as though she’d never lift again. Her antirad coating was scraped and patched, her drive coils corroded. Kas prayed to any god that happened by that there had been a mistake — this couldn't be Starhopper, but he knew there’d been no mistake.
Kas was glumly surveying the decaying hulk when he noticed a ground car speeding across the field toward him. He turned as it lurched to a halt, and a portly middle-aged man climbed out.
“Commodore Preslin?” The man called, “I’m Jad Holtow, Chief Engineer of the shipyard.”
Kas straightened in surprise. “I’m Preslin,” he confirmed. “What have I done to rate the attentions of the chief engineer himself?”
Holtow's brow furrowed with annoyance. “When one receives a vid call from Admiral Pankin himself, suggesting it would be nice if I personally show Commodore Preslin around Starhopper, I hasten to comply.” His eyes travelled up and down Kas’ figure.
Kas could almost read Holtow's mind. “There’s really nothing special about me, Sire Holtow. It’s the mission that the fleet admiral cares about.” He grinned. “So, why don’t we get on with it, and let you get back to important matters?”
Holtow’s hunched shoulders relaxed slightly, his annoyed scowl fading. “To be honest,” he said with a genuine smile, “I don’t really mind. We’re quite proud of Starhopper.”
Kas’ eyes travelled up the dilapidated hull. “Are you sure we’re talking about the same ship? This one looks like she’s being scrapped!”
Holtow’s smile widened. “I’m glad you think so, Commodore. If she can convince an expert like you, she should be able to convince anyone you meet along the way.”
“Actually,” he continued, “she’s in better than new condition. Her hull is about eighty years old. We didn’t want a new hull; it wouldn’t show the kind of wear traces that you can’t fake. It wasn’t easy to get the effect we wanted with the antirad coating and drive coils, either. We’ve spent weeks getting them right.” His tone had become increasingly enthusiastic as he spoke. It may have taken a call from the Fleet Admiral to pry him from his office, but the man was proud of the ship and determined to show Kas every detail.
His pride was justified. Beneath the patched and ugly antirad coating, Starhopper was an impressive ship. Both her jump engines and inertial drives were new, and Alliance imports, at that. All made to look old and worn.
DIN-class haulers don’t run to a full AI, but Starhopper ’s nav comps were also new-and carefully aged. The same applied to her life support and med comps.
Even the cold-sleep units had been made to look shabby and old. The total effect was of a decrepit tramp, but one whose crew kept her clean and in decent running condition. She wouldn’t be condemned by any officious customs inspectors, but they might leave shaking their heads.
“The only thing an inspector might notice is the med comp. It is slightly large for a DIN-class,” Holtow said. “I’d recommend you just say that it was salvaged from an old destroyer. The reason it’s so large,' he continued, 'is it’s also your battle comp. A concealed switch on your bridge comm panel accesses it, and the comm station becomes the weapons station. We used state of the art Alliance components. You’ve got more battle computing power than a new destroyer.” He caressed the med comp's control panel with paternal pride.
“What does it control? I haven’t seen a single weapon.”
For a moment Kas thought Holtow would jump up and down with pleasure. “Wonderful!” the man gushed. “If a spacer as experienced as you didn’t notice, no one else should!” He scurried off, Kas hurrying to keep up.
Starhopper ’s weaponry consisted of three Alliance light projectile quickfirers concealed between the inner and outer hulls. They were poised to fire through ports covered by concealed retractable doors in the hull. The quickfirers fired a small fifty-millimeter rocket some twenty centimeters long at a rate of 350 per minute. With its collapsed-metal plating, each rocket massed over a hundred kilos in a one-gee field. They were proven weapons, effective against anything up to destroyer class. “You’ll have to maneuver the ship to bring them onto target,” Holtow told Kas. “There was no way to conceal turrets.”
The ship’s main battery consisted of two heavy lasers in the cargo bays, concealed by packing crates. The crates appeared to be sealed, and were labeled as mining and terraforming equipment. Bringing them into action would require the cargo bays to be depressurized. Then the huge cargo doors could be opened, the packing crates would collapse, and the heavy, cruiser-sized lasers would be moved into position on tracks welded to the deck.
“That was one of the advantages of making her look ancient,” Holtow explained. “Most oddities like those tracks can simply be explained by saying it was that way when you bought her. Everyone knows a ship that’s been kicking around known space for a century or so is going to have all sorts of jerry rigs and modifications. If she looked reasonably new, you might have more explaining to do.”
By the time the tour was completed, Kas was truly impressed. The artificial aging was incredibly effective. He still had to take Holtow’s word that some of the equipment was new, but Starhopper would do. Any inspector looking closely enough to detect the subterfuge would already be so deep into the innards the jig would be up anyway. If his forged documents were as good, and he had no reason to doubt Imperial Intelligence wouldn’t make them so, the plan might just work.
Starhopper ’s crew all arrived the following day. Kas showed them to their cabins, but told them not to unpack yet, then called a crew meeting on the ship’s mess deck
As Pankin had mentioned, all five were outerworlders like him.
Commander Bol Evers, Kas’ exec, was from Arcadia. Arcadia is on the border with the Glory, and her people are painfully aware that if the empire continues to retrench, Arcadia is likely to fall to it. The cruelty and viciousness of the “missionaries” the Glory sent to “spiritually cleanse” newly acquired systems is legendary. Those who could had already left the Arcadia system. Physically Bol was large, burly and dark. Dark haired, and dark complected. He wore a permanent frown and an angry manner. His communication with the others seemed mostly to consist of grunts and growls. Bol’s papers listed him as the ship’s Purser. Froud’s report was not hopeful. “I wondered about the fact that so many of his fitness reports said he had ‘difficulty relating to some others’, and ‘insular attitudes’,” the Captain reported, “So, I called one of his former skippers. It seems he’s something of an outerworld bigot. You’ll have to make your own judgment.”
Commander Toj Kray was from Bulworth, a heavy-gravity mining planet. Like all Bulworthers, he was short, wide, and muscular. He was to be Starhopper ’s engineer. Captain Froud reported he was “very competent technically, but dislikes social situations. He tends to be something of a hermit, hiding out in engineering whenever possible.” As if to confirm the Captain’s words, the engineer huddled in a corner and responded to any verbal advances with grunts and monosyllables.
Lieutenant Gran Telker was tall, lean, handsome, and impeccably groomed. He suffered from nearly terminal cheerfulness. This was deceptive, because Gran was to be Starhopper ’s Gunner, though his papers listed him as second engineer. He would be responsible for the care and maintenance of the cold-sleep units. Captain Froud reported that he “fancies himself something of a ladies’ man. Acts like a social butterfly, but he’s a damned good gunner. He doesn’t take anything seriously, including himself.”
Lieutenant Edro Jans was to be Starhopper ’s comm tech. Small and slight; his constant nervous smile gave him a whipped dog air that bothered Kas. Like Kray, he huddled in a corner and ignored all efforts to engage him in conversation. Captain Froud considered Jans to be Kas’ biggest problem. “It’s ironic that he’s your communications officer, because he barely communicates with anyone. Almost terminally shy. To be honest, he was about to be kicked out of the fleet when I grabbed him.”
The final crewman was Lieutenant Commander Tera Fauss. Tera was a husky, plain woman from Fargone. She was to be Starhopper ’s Astrogator. Captain Froud observed that “she’s an excellent astrogator, and general pain in the backside. Officious and book bound, and not above reminding her superiors about regulations anytime she thinks they’re being violated. Guaranteed to infuriate her captains.”
