John pulled Giacomo’s arm aroundhis neck, holding it at the wrist, and headed him off towards his quarters. Giacomo talked constantly, most of it incomprehensible.
“Where we going?” came outclearly.
“Time for bed,” John told him.
Giacomo pulled away, shaking hishead. “I not tire.”
“Yes, you are.”
“Jus’ one more drinkie?” Giacomopleaded, refusing to move but swaying constantly.
“But you’ve drunk everything. They’ve run out,” John tried.
“We go som’ere ess.”
“All right,” John agreed.
Giacomo was happy, and went withJohn – straight back to his quarters. He seemed to vaguely recognise the roomand complained, turning around on the spot to head back out, but unable to findthe door.
John steered him to his bedroomand dumped him on his bed. He fell backwards, his head hitting the pillow. John swung his legs up and pulled off his boots. The pilot groaned andcomplained, but was in no state to get himself back up. John left him there; abackward glance told him he was safe. The door closed and muffled the noise.
* * *
John slept well that night. Itwas late next morning when he awoke. The fact that he hadn’t been disturbedmeant the crew had not caused trouble. He was grateful for that. He caught upwith Sean and spent the rest of his time with him; catching up and updating himas best he knew on what was going on. Sean would have no input on anythingthat happened with his ship, but John wasn’t letting him go into any situationblind.
For a fighter pilot, Sean seemedto come and go as he pleased. Shimodo was on leave for a week. As long as hekept out of trouble, no one seemed to mind where he was. John accepted that. As long as his own crew behaved, he didn’t care where they were either.
It was all too soon that theirtwenty four hours were up. John would miss his friend, but he was safe and henow knew where to find him.
There was a much improved mannerfrom the bridge crew. McReidy and Gillespie were the only ones still in onehundred per cent condition. Giacomo’s bruised knuckles ached as his fingersworked the controls and he tended to make slower movements, which requiredusing his hand and arm for movement and keeping his fingers as still aspossible.
Humphries had his head in hisarms, leaning on the communications console, and moaning quietly to himself. He was hungover; his head ached. Most of the swelling had gone down from hiseye. It was a lovely shade of black from his eyebrow, down the side of hisnose and back under the cheekbone.
Giacomo had cracked the bone. Dunlop had set it. There would be no permanent damage and his eyesight wasunaffected. It was tender to touch and throbbed constantly.
John’s ribs were painful. Aslong as he breathed evenly, he was fine. Sitting in the captain’s chair, healways tended to lean against an arm. This was now impossible and he shifteduneasily, attempting to find a comfortable position.
“Do you know what I hate mostabout shore leave?” Dunlop growled over the intercom.
“What’s that?” John asked.
“Patching them up when they getback.”
John smiled. “Are we ready toleave, Giacomo?”
“Yes, sir.”
A beeping came through thecommunications console. Gillespie leaned over and nudged Humphries. Hejumped, his head moving from side to side as he tried to remember where he wasand what he was supposed to be doing.
“Incoming call,” Gillespie toldhim.
“Oh… sorry… I thought it was myhead.”
“Are you sure you’re all right?”
“I’m fine.” He answered the calland turned to John. “It’s for you, sir. It’s the Kirov.” He put the mainscreen on visual.
“Captain Mikhailovich,” John answeredpolitely. “What can I do for you?”
“Well,” Mikhailovich hesitated. “I don’t quite know how to put this… but it seems that one of our Tom Thumbtorpedoes is missing –”
Gillespie immediately turned awaywith guilt and pretended to busy himself at his console. John was too smart toconfirm his guilt. His eyes never shifted from Mikhailovich, never changingtheir expression.
“Our shipment was short, and mysupply officer seems to think you might know something about it,” Mikhailovichfinished.
John was thoughtful, allowing thecorrect amount of time before answering. “Tom Thumb? I can honestly say, sir,I’ve never heard of it.”
“I didn’t think so.” Mikhailovich was almost apologetic. “I know you’re not equipped to handlethem.” He signed off.
John waited a moment until heknew Humphries had broken the connection.
“Aren’t you glad I didn’t knowthat… Mister Gillespie?” He turned accusingly to Gillespie as he spoke hisname.
Gillespie gulped. “Yes, sir.” He couldn’t face John.
Although John had become familiarwith the torpedo, that was the extent of his knowledge. What it was, where itcame from and how it got to be there, he didn’t want to know. He would notdeliberately lie to his superiors, and this way he didn’t have to.
“Move out, Giacomo.”
Gillespie turned slightly andcaught half a smile from John, who leant against the arm of the chair, bumpinghis ribs, and shifted uncomfortably.
Back to top
Chapter eight
The ship sped from orbit, headingfor the junkyard moon. John knew there would be objections the moment he toldthe crew where they were going. He figured once they hit scanner range wouldbe enough notice.
“Steve, got that shopping list?”he asked.
“Always,” Gillespie answered.
“That little moon on screen is ajunkyard of parts. We’re going to get what we can from it.”
John paused. A few secondsticked.
“And you chose to tell us thisnow… why?”
He smiled. Yep, there was thedisapproval from McReidy.
She turned her seat to face him. “Because it’s illegal?”
All eyes turned to him. Giacomo’s only briefly as he glanced over his shoulder and then back to thehelm and the main screen.
“That wasn’t the word used,” Johnanswered.
“And what was the word used?” shequeried.
“It is patrolled.”
She shook her head slightly.
“So we need our heads down andour eyes open. Anyone else have a problem with that?”
There were headshakes all roundand Tan slipped an earphone in. McReidy turned back to her console.
“Giacomo, move us in and set anorbit. If we can hide somewhere, all the better.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Scanners aren’t picking anythingup,” Gillespie stated. “We seem to be alone, bar blind spots.”
There were always blind spots. Some would clear with distance, others would remain so. John knew he’d benotified if anything came out of them.
Once in range, Giacomo scannedthe moon. The tiny rock was no
