Thunderhead

19

“That’s correct, sir,” Pryor said crisply. “I haven’t picked up any comeback on my pulse, but I’ll definitely identify the echo as coming from a JN type installation.”

Commodore Broadly nodded curtly. “However, inasmuch as your instruments indicate that this station is not linked in with a net capable of setting up a defensive field, it’s of no use to us.” The commodore looked at Pryor, waiting.

“I think perhaps there’s a way, sir,” Pryor said. “The Djann are known to have strong tribal feelings. They’d never pass up what they thought was an SOS from one of their own. Now, suppose we signal this JN station to switch over to the Djann frequencies and beam one of their own signal patterns at them. They just might stop to take a look…”

“By God,” Broadly looked at the signal lieutenant, “if he doesn’t, he’s not human!”

“You like the idea, sir?” Pryor grinned.

“A little rough on the beacon station if they reach it before we do, eh, Lieutenant? I imagine our friends the Djann will be a trifle upset when they learn they’ve been duped.”

“Oh…” Pryor looked blank. “I guess I hadn’t thought of that, sir.”

“Never mind,” Broadly said briskly, “the loss of a minor installation such as this is a reasonable exchange for an armed vessel of the enemy.”

“Well…”

“Lieutenant, if I had a few more officers aboard who employed their energies in something other than assembling statistics proving we’re beaten, this cruise might have made a record for itself—” Broadly cut himself off, remembering the degree of aloofness due very junior officers—even juniors who may have raked some very hot chestnuts out of the fire.

“Carry on, Lieutenant,” he said. “If this works out, I think I can promise you a very favorable endorsement on your next ER.”

As Pryor’s pleased grin winked off the screen, the commodore flipped up the red line key, snapped a brusque request at the bored log room yeoman.

“This will make Old Carbuncle sing another tune,” he remarked almost gaily to the exec, standing by with a harassed expression.

“Maybe you’d better go slow, Ned,” the latter cautioned, gauging his senior’s mood. “It might be as well to get a definite confirmation on this installation’s capabilities before we go on record—”

Broadly turned abruptly to the screen as it chimed. “Admiral, as I reported, I’ve picked up one of our forward beacon towers,” Broadly’s hearty voice addressed the screen from which the grim visage of the task force commander eyed him. “I’m taking steps to complete the intercept; steps which are, if I may say so, rather ingenious—”

“It’s my understanding the target is receding on an I curve, Broadly,” the admiral said flatly. “I’ve been anticipating a code thirty-three from you.”

“Break off action?” Broadly’s jaw dropped. “Now, Tom—”

“It’s a little irregular to use a capital ship of the line to chase a ten-thousand-ton yacht,” the task force commander ignored the interruption. “I can understand your desire to break the monotony with a little activity; good exercise for the crew, too. But at the rate the signal is attenuating, it’s apparent you’ve lost her.” His voice hardened. “I’m beginning to wonder if you’ve forgotten that your assignment is the containment of enemy forces supposedly pinned down under tight quarantine!”

“This yacht, as you put it, Admiral, blew two of my detached units out of space!” Broadly came back hotly. “In addition, he planted a missile squarely in my fore lazaret—”

“I’m not concerned with the details of your operation at this moment, Commodore,” the other bit off the words like bullets. “I’m more interested in maintaining the degree of surveillance over my assigned quadrant that Concordiat Security requires. Accordingly—”

“Just a minute, Tom, before you commit yourself,” Broadly’s florid face was pale around the ears. “Perhaps you failed to catch my first remark: I have a forward station directly in the enemy’s line of retreat. The intercept is in the bag—unless you countermand me.”

“You’re talking nonsense. The target’s well beyond the Inner Line—”

“He’s not beyond the Outer Line!”

The admiral frowned. His tight, well-chiseled face was still youthful under the mask of authority. “The system was never extended into the region under discussion,” he said harshly. “I suggest you recheck your instruments. In the interim, I want to see an advice of a course correction for station in the length of time it takes you to give the necessary orders to your navigation section.”

Broadly drew a breath, hesitated. If Old Carbuncle was right—if that infernal signal lieutenant had made a mistake—but the boy seemed definite enough about it. He clamped his jaw. He’d risked his career on a wild throw; maybe he’d acted a little too fast, maybe he’d been a little too eager to grab a chance at some favorable notice, but the die was cast now. If he turned back empty-handed, the entire affair would go into the record as a major fiasco. But if this scheme worked out…

“Unless the admiral wishes to make that a direct order,” he heard himself saying firmly, “I intend to hold my course and close with the enemy. It’s my feeling that neither the Admiralty nor the general public will enjoy hearing of casualties inflicted by a supposedly neutralized enemy who was then permitted to go his way unhindered.” He returned the other’s stare, feeling a glow of pride at his own decisiveness, and a simultaneous sinking sensation at the enormity of the insubordination.

The vice admiral looked back at him through narrowed eyes. “I’ll leave that decision to you, Commodore,” he said tightly. “I think you’re as aware as I of what’s at stake here.”

Broadly stiffened at what was almost an open threat.

“Instruct your signal officer to pass full information on this supposed station to me immediately,” the senior concluded curtly, and disappeared from the screen.

Broadly turned away, feeling all eyes on him. “Tell Pryor to copy his report to G at once,” he said in a harsh voice. His eyes strayed to the exec’s. “And if this idea of his doesn’t work out, God help him.” And all of us, he added under his breath.