The Kruton Interface by John Dechancie Read Free Book Online Page B

about.”
    “What ship is it?”
    “It’s a cruiser, the Anson MacDonald. Must be having minor mechanical failure. It’s requesting a berth at the graving dock.”
    “Either that or it’s coming to take us away on a mystery tour.”
    Darvona’s pretty blue eyes went wide. “No kidding, do you think… ?” She thought about it. “Nahhh. Sven, you’re so silly.”
    Sven’s eyes rolled as he continued to take readings.
    “Hey, here’s another call,” Darvona said. “From Command Central, scrambled. For the captain.”
     
    * * *
     
    David Wanker sat at his work console, exhausted and still stumped after days of research. He had been doing detective work, trying to get to the bottom of the Repulse’s jinx, to find out why this ship had so many black marks against it.
    It didn’t figure. There was nothing mechanically wrong with the ship, at least not fundamentally wrong. Yes, Sadowski was a terrible engineer, but that didn’t explain everything. Yes, most of the crew were inveterate screw-ups, but that didn’t sufficiently explain the mystery either. The ship’s operational procedures were standard—hell, they came out of manuals. Chain of command was standard …   What, then, was the problem?
    A beep from the comm panel interrupted his thoughts.
    “What?” he growled.
    “Oo, Captain, you scared me. What’s the matter?”  
    “Huh? Oh. Sorry, Ms. Roundheels. Look, if it’s another message, I’m not in.”  
    “Okay.”  
    “Okay, what?”
    “It’s another message, and you’re not in.”  
    “Right. Wait a minute. Who is it?”  
    “Who’s what?”
    Wanker slapped his forehead. “Who’s calling, for Pete’s sake?”  
    “Oh. Uh . .. it’s Rear Admiral Dickover.”  
    Wanker sat up. “Holy crap. Lyman Dickover?”  
    “I’ll tell him you’re not in.”  
    “No, wait! I’ll take the call.”  
    “You’re sure?”
    “Yes, I’m sure. Do you think I’m going to stiff an admiral?”
    “I would,” Darvona said peevishly. “Enough of them have stiffed me.”
    “Never mind. Put the admiral through.”
    David Wanker cringed inwardly as he sat and waited. Admiral Dickover was not exactly one of his favorite people, and he was certain the feeling was mutual. In fact, he had long suspected Dickover of gunning for him. Throughout Wanker’s career, Dickover had remained just above in rank, hovering like a hawk. And every time Wanker goofed, Dickover swooped, going for the kill.
    The blue-jawed face of Lyman Dickover appeared on the screen. He was a study in blue. His eyes had the deadly luster of gun steel, his Earth-sky-colored uniform and the blue-gray stubble on his shaved bulletlike head complementing the color scheme.
    “Good day, Admiral Dickover,” Wanker said. “What can I do for you?”
    The admiral growled, “You can complete your new assignment without screwing up.”
    “I intend to run a taut ship, sir.”
    Dickover grunted. “We’ll see. By the way, we’ve finally located the last ship you ran tautly. Found it in a scrap yard in the Orion Nebula, its serial numbers filed off and stripped of just about everything, including the main reactor.”
    Wanker shifted uncomfortably in his chair. “I’m … I’m glad we got it back, sir.”
    “Worth about a hundred credits as scrap metal,” Dickover snorted. “But of course the board of inquiry did clear you.”
    “I was completely innocent of any negligence!”
    “So they said. Well, let’s put the past behind us. New orders will be coming to you by messenger.”
    “Hand-carried? From the base?”
    “No. The Anson MacDonald is carrying the messenger and is being diverted to your area, using a bogus distress call as a cover. You can infer from that how important this mission is and how highly classified, too.”
    Wanker stiffened a bit with pride. “Yes, sir! Admiral, I relish an assignment like this.”
    “Relish it all you want. Just don’t end up with egg on your face, Wanker.”
    That’s Vahn-ker,