Kris Longknife's Bloodhound, a novella Read online

  “May I get back to you when I have more to report?” Taylor asked.

  “I’m hardly in your chain of command,” the general answered.

  “For this particular case, you are the closest person I have to that role.”

  “So, if you are Kris Longknife’s bloodhound, what would that make me?”

  “Have you ever been Master of the Hunt?”

  “Hunts for Iteeche maybe. Never for the truth. It’s far too illusive for the likes of me.”

  “Well, I have never worked for a princess either.”

  “Well then,” Trouble said, “let us see if we old dogs can learn a few new tricks.”

  Chapter 5

  Taylor called the number Trouble had given him. Surprise of surprises, it took him to a voice box that did not ask him to leave a message. Still, the agent left his name and number and managed not to cringe too much as he said “Trouble sent me.”

  Honovi’s number called for more consideration. Again, Taylor found himself going up the beanstalk. This time, he headed for the area outside the Nuu yard. There, he easily found the Lost Dutchman. It was a huge eatery of no particular ambiance. Clearly, it was intended to get a lot of hungry folks fed with a minimum of fuss. It offered a breakfast menu before the first and second shift, a lunch menu in the middle of both and a supper menu when either was done.

  Taylor arrived an hour before the end of the day shift. He found a public net access and called the number.

  “Yeah,” came harried but quick.

  “Honovi Longknife suggested I talk to you,” was all Taylor said.

  “About what?” was laden with caution.

  “This and that,” sounded vague enough for Taylor.

  “Where?”

  “The Lost Dutchman sound good to you.”

  “How will I know you?”

  “I’ll be in the back, and I’ll know you.” Taylor’s directory included a picture of the woman. Taylor had not enabled the video of his borrowed net access.

  “You’re lucky. It doesn’t look like I’ll have to work late,” was followed quickly by a click.

  Taylor ordered himself a lemonade and downloaded the latest copy of Jane’s All the Worlds’ Merchant Ships. After realizing the standard version was little more than a recognition manual with the bare minimum of specs on the ships, he paid for the attached database that included builders as well as the full specs on the power plants and other technical data.

  It was the technical data he most wanted to know.

  First, Taylor arranged the data by latest construction to older. Honovi was correct. Ships delivered most recently were different from those five years ago. Fully loaded with cargo, they were much larger than the earlier ones, yet, their power plants were a good third less powerful than those for the older ships. When he compared empty deadweight to fully loaded mass, the ratio was a good twenty to thirty percent higher.

  Taylor stared off into the middle distance of the large dining room as he worked to connect the dots. The new hulls must be a lot lighter. They also likely contained fewer or smaller storage tanks for reaction mass. Honovi had been careful to reveal nothing about the content of the Wasp’s log, but he’d been definite that these jumps involved hard accelerations and that meant well reinforced hulls, big reactors and plenty of reaction mass to feed them.

  New construction might make it to the next port with no problems, but a thousand light year jump? Not so likely.

  Taylor turned back to his database. “What can you tell me about new construction?”

  According to one of the advertisements that came with the database, the Nuu Yards were producing a new class of ships. They were huge, light and low powered. “The most economical trade ships for the new age” it bragged.

  Taylor reviewed the specs for the Pride of Free Enterprise, and the Pride of the Free Market. They were light as a prima ballerina and likely just as beautiful . . . and specialized.

  After staring at them for a long minute, Taylor tapped for the update option on the page. It cost, but promised to give him the most up to date information on the construction of the ships and the latest press releases from the building yard.

  A bit more than a month ago the yard had announced that these ships would be made with the latest Smart MetalTM.

  “That’s interesting. Why use smart metal for a merchant ship specialized for one specific trade route? Why pay for the option to reorganize your ship when you’ve designed it down to the last fine point to be just exactly what you want?” Taylor muttered to himself.

  He strongly suspected he knew the answer.

  He scrolled down for the very latest updates.

  He didn’t have to scroll much. There hadn’t been an update in over a month. There was no launch date, nor data on any changes to the design. The latter was understandable. It was harder, however, to believe that the yard’s PR had nothing to brag about concerning the first Smart MetalTM hulls. As a point of fact, it was only slightly short of unbelievable.

  Taylor closed down his net access. He needed to think about what his research showed before he talked with someone who knew just exactly what was going on, but had likely been told to forget it the moment she set foot outside her office.

  On a stray thought, Taylor paid for access to Jane’s All the Worlds’ Fighting Ships.

  No surprise, the USS Wasp had its own entry, although the final notation said the ship was being scrapped at High Chance Station. It was the earlier entries Taylor found interesting. The ship had started life as a single reactor something that quickly found its way into the pirate trade. Captured by Princess Longknife, it came into U.S. hands after being condemned by a court on Chance.

  Taylor had to pause for a moment to smile. “So, Princess, your ship began life at Chance and is now ending there. Poetry anyone?”

  Since the universe did not answer, Taylor went on.

  Once in the US Navy, it had been subjected to an overhaul that amounted to little short of a rebuild. It acquired a second reactor and four 18-inch pulse lasers. It was also jumboized so it could carry more shipping containers. Those containers had proven most versatile, carrying scientific equipment as well as quarters for the scientists. The Wasp had been classified as a Exploration Corvette. Oh, more containers had been added to support a Marine detachment, then more to support more Sailors who supported more of just about everything.

  “Princess, I do believe your ship just kind of grew.”

  The pictures in the file showed the ship as it grew more and more containers. It was a boxy looking ship, but even with the largest collection it had when it departed with the Fleet of Discovery, it had been a compact looking affair.

  Taylor flipped back to the displacement of the refitted corvette. Its deadweight showed it pretty solid. Even with its containers, it was still quite heavy.

  “Computer, compare the tonnage of the U.S.S. Wasp with the tonnage of a similar freighter with the same number of shipping containers.”

  The computer found four small freighters. Fully loaded, they still massed well below the Wasp.

  “There are containers for shipping computer components, and then there are containers for shipping scientists and Marines,” the agent muttered to himself.

  “Computer, can you find any specs for the containers the Navy is using for its ships.”

  “No, sir,” came back fast, but not as a surprise.

  The Wasp had not been outfitted to make a profit, but to take a princess where she wanted to go. To let her see what she wanted to see, and get her out of any trouble she got into while there.

  Taylor pushed himself back from the table and stared off into space for a long, long time.

  He almost failed to notice that the restaurant was filling with after shift customers. When he did, he had little trouble spotting his engineer. She was the only lone individual looking around for someone.

  Taylor had his computer do a quick visual check to verify the woman was indeed the one he’d called, then waved
at her.

  The woman exuded caution as he approached Taylor’s table. The agent stood and offered his hand.

  “I am Taylor Foile. Honovi suggested I talk with you.”

  The woman took his hand. The shake was tentative and calculated, perfect for an uncomfortable engineer. “I’m Annie Smedenhoff. Yes, Honovi called and said I should talk to you. Why?”

  “The Prime Minister’s son didn’t tell you?” Why wasn’t Taylor surprised?

  “How much of your life do you trust to the net, Mr. Foile?” the engineer shot back. “Especially after the latest upgrade of what they call ‘security’?”

  “I’ll concede the point. After all, I’m here talking to you in person. Do you trust we can talk here?”

  The young woman pulled a thin pink box from her purse, punched the single, green button on its face and set it in the middle of the table. A moment later, Taylor noticed two small, glowing dust motes.

  “Yes, I think we can talk,” the woman said.

  “Were you followed by, ah, them?” Taylor asked.

  “No telling, but now, no doubt, they will not be telling, will they? By the way, I’m recording this conversation. Are you?”

  Taylor had not expected this level of paranoia. However, he’d been warned enough that he was venturing onto dangerous ground if he tried to follow the Longknife princess’s question.

  “On official business, yes, I do. However, as it turns out, I am on vacation at the moment,” Taylor said, as he reached into his pocket and removed an old fashioned pad of paper and pen. “Today, I may take notes on the more complex issues in your area of technical expertise.”

  “So Member of Parliament Honovi Longknife calls me up and asks me to meet with you, on your vacation, huh?”

  “On my vacation I am attempting to unravel a riddle of sorts.”

  “A riddle. Of sorts,” Annie said, and punched for a cob salad on the computer menu at the table. Taylor took the moment to order a Ruben sandwich, no fries.

  “Yes, a riddle. I don’t know if you know, but Princess Kristine Longknife went to call on her grandfather Alexander a few days ago.”

  Annie smiled. It was a nice addition to her face. She wore no makeup except maybe a touch of lipstick. The smile added a glow to her face and a slight dimple on her left cheek. “So that was what the commotion was all about. I knew someone at the yard had to go collect a shuttle from, what was it, the Matsu?”

  “The Imperial Musashi Battleship Mutsu,” Taylor corrected.

  “Yes,” she said, and Taylor had the distinct impression he had passed a test of sorts.

  “The shuttle is being refurbrished down to the glue on its skin. I understand it will then be returned to Mr. Alexander’s own Tower of Power.”

  Their meals arrived on a self-propelled trolley. They removed their food. Foile settled up their tab with cash and the trolley rolled off.

  “You are, ah, seeking your privacy,” Annie said.

  “What privacy I may have. No doubt there are cameras recording our presence in the room.”

  “But there is too much ambient noise for them to separate our conversation from so many others, at least at the moment.

  A few feet away, another dust mote glowed bright for a moment, then dissipated.

  “The Longknife princess went to extremes to talk to her grandfather,” Taylor said, going straight to the point. No doubt, their conversation would have to be over all too soon. Sad that, because Annie was a pleasant woman to spend time with.

  “And what did she want to talk to her grandfather about?” Annie said, taking a bite of her salad.

  “Is he thinking of sending freighters out, beyond human space?”

  “Oh,” Annie said. She swallowed her mouthful, took another bite and finished chewing it without saying another word.

  Taylor ignored his sandwich. “I have pulled up all the information available about the ships now building in the Nuu Yards. I know that they are Smart Metal, a strange and expensive choice for ships intended to spend their lifetime plying the well-ordered shipping lanes between comfortable point A and profitable point B. Honovi also sees this as strange. He thought you might tell us something since, despite the Nuu Yards’ usually verbose press releases, there has been nothing in them about the Pride of Free Enterprise for the last six weeks.”

  She took another bite, while staring at the wall to the right of Taylor’s face.

  When she finally spoke, her words came very softly. Taylor had to work hard to hear them over the talk at the nearby tables. “There won’t be any press releases, even when they’re launched, take on their first cargo, and depart on their first voyage.”

  “That’s unusual,” Taylor said, equally softly.

  “Unheard of,” Annie corrected him. “Totally unheard of. Nuu Yards never miss a chance to herald the wheels of progress. At least, not until these two ships came along.”

  “What’s so strange about them?” Taylor asked.

  “They’re gigantic!” Annie said. “We’ve added the two reactors for the next two ships on to them. Four in each hull. Huge engines, and plenty of them. Also, we’re pouring the Smart Metal from the next planned ships into these two. That might just mean that someone wants to ship a whole lot of stuff, but that can’t be all of it.”

  “Why?”

  Again she paused, but not to take another bite. Now, she was arranging all the croutons in the salad in a line on the right side of the plate.

  “There is no way for a uninformed engineer to know anything about the potential use a ship will be put to,” she said. “However, engineers are not blind. You ask us to do something, we can’t help but extrapolate the data to its logical conclusions. The conclusion may originate in sales, but they are, surprisingly often, logical. Particularly if they intend to turn a profit. And Alexander may be many things, but he never has his eyes far from the bottom line.”

  Taylor took this rambling conversation for something that would lead to somewhere. He did not interrupt. He was quickly rewarded for his forbearance.

  “I’ve been asked to calculate the longitudinal hull strength members needed to bear up to 2.5 gees, and to pass my calculations along to the Smart Metal programmers so they can develop a standard configuration using that acceleration. That is unusual acceleration for a merchant ship, don’t you think?”

  “Yes, considering that Mr. Longknife had been lobbying parliament for the last five years to allow for the absolute minimum of ship, reactor and reaction mass needed to get from a specific point A to point B.”

  “Yes. I worked on those calculations too,” Annie said, and seemed to think better of ignoring her salad. She took a bite and chewed it slowly as she went on. “What’s unusual about these ships is that I’ve also been asked to recalculate the lateral strength members. How much cargo can the ship take on and keep aboard safely while high under centripetal forces.”

  “While the hull is rotating?” Taylor asked to make sure he understood.

  “Yes. That’s crazy. You accelerate a ship at one gee, and you’ve got a down equal to one gravity. Nice. That’s what lines do. This station rotates at just the right speed so that the A Deck has enough centripetal force that you feel like it’s one gravity. Nice. Mix the two up and you get one hell of a confused inner ear.”

  The two stared at each other.

  “It makes no sense,” the young woman said.

  “It has to make sense,” Taylor said. Something was gnawing at the back of his mind.

  “Wait a second,” he said and called up the Fighting Ships database. He’d flipped through the first couple of entries before he’d launched a search for the Wasp. Now he went back to those early entries. They showed the fleet of Earth. Battleships had pride of place.

  “Look at these battleships. Have you ever worked on the design of one of them?” he asked the engineer.

  “No. Not even in college. They’re obsolete. No one has built one since the Iteeche War. There are scads of them left over from then.�
�� She paused for a moment. “Well, almost no one. There are reports that Greenfield has built a few of them. They didn’t do much in the war and they don’t have all the relics in orbit that most of us have. Anyway. No, I’ve never worked on something like that. Corvettes, destroyers. Yes, we make them.”

  “Look at the notation on these battleships. What’s 15 RPM mean? This one is 20 RPM.”

  “Revolutions per minute.” Annie spoke the words as if from pure rote, something she had memorized long ago but saw no application here.

  Then she shook her head. “You don’t rotate a ship. The Santa Maria, one of the first exploration starships launched from Earth, did a bad jump because it had a bad thruster and took on a rotation as it did its first jump. They ended up way across the galaxy. It took another ship on a bad jump to find it.”

  “How’d that happen?”

  “You must have read about it. Ray Longknife’s ship was sabotaged. We never did find out who did it. Anyway, he and his ship ended up way the hell and gone and stumbled onto the lost colony the crew of the Santa Maria had set up. At least the survivors. All I know is that we engineers design ships to stay steady as rocks when we approach a jump.”

  “So, why do these battleships advertise how many revolutions per minute they can do?” Taylor asked. Now he knew why you didn’t want to do RPMs. He still didn’t know why these particular ships did them.

  “Oh,” Annie said, and Taylor could almost see a light bulb above her head light up. “Lasers. These battleships have thick ice armor. See, three meters thick. Three and a half for this big bruiser. That’s to absorb laser hits.”

  “So?” Taylor said, still not enlightened.

  “Even with that much ice, if you hit it with a big enough laser, it will melt through, so they rotated the ship to force any laser hits to burn through more ice. It creates a hell of a problem keeping the ships balanced. You burn off some armor on a fast rotating ship and you’ve got the devil’s own time keeping your ship from spinning itself to destruction. Now I remember this problem in class. A classic first year problem. How fast do you need to redistribute reaction mass and how much pumping power do you need? I aced it.” she said with a proud smile.