Act One
Babel Rising
Part III
SES Babel, Novelysium 11th, 3729.
The Captain of the Babel stalked through the bare metal corridors of his ship, in a decidedly bad mood. Sharp blue eyes smouldered with an inner fire, and the stern lines on his face were so hard set that his crew stepped out of his way as he passed, alarmed – even more so than normal when Uriel Locke’s dander was up.
In fairness to them, he had been in a spectacularly bad mood for at least a month. As he stepped onto the access lift and tapped the control for the engineering deck, he closed his eyes and tried to remind himself that this was all for the greater good. He tugged at the hem of the blue science-fleet uniform he wore – oh, how he hated this colour, this uniform, this side of the service.
Quite why whatever fate or destiny existed in this universe had decided to place him on this path, he wasn’t sure, but he hated it all the same.
When he had been told – by his old friend Admiral Laughlin no less – that the SES Babel was being retrofitted for scientific experimentation, he had thought it was a joke. Oh sure, Jayne Laughlin wasn’t exactly known for her sense of humour, but that had to be the explanation, surely? Why else would she think that making a patrol ship into a science vessel would be a good idea? Why else would she think that he, of all Captains, was the man to command such a ship?
He thought back to that meeting, more than a month ago now…
***
“I want a Captain I trust on this,” Laughlin had said, folding her arms in the way she did when she thought she was being perfectly reasonable.
Her long, greying hair was tied up behind her head, and her grey uniform was extra-neat. Locke couldn’t help but think that she was over-compensating, trying to play the ‘authority’ card. It would have worked better if Uriel didn’t remember at least six different occasions where she had spent hours throwing up in his privy after a night on leave.
“I’m pretty sure there are Captains you trust who are more qualified for a science-corp posting, Admiral,” he had told her, making sure to keep his tone measured and reasonable. “I’m a soldier. Always have been. And the Babel is a ship of war. Turning her into a blue ship -”
“Uriel.” The tone of admonishment was familiar, at least.
“Fine, a science-corp vessel,” Uriel amended. “Is a massive waste of resources.”
As petty as that surely sounded, it was also true. The Babel was much more warship than science-vessel, her decks and corridors not built to accommodate whatever science-corp projects the blue-shirts wanted to put onboard. And while he knew they could retrofit her, war was in her DNA, not laboratories and science experiments. You could pretty the ship up, but she would always be, in her bones, a warship.
“That’s precisely why we want you there, Uriel,” Laughlin had told him. “The projects the Babel will be testing will change the course of our conflict with the Ghaoraag, will alter the way we patrol the Empire… hells, they’ll alter the way we expand the Empire.” She had given him a sly look. “They might even help with the next round of updates to the Caliburn-class ships.”
Uriel had paused at that, before scowling at her. She’d always known that the Caliburn-class ships were a weakness of his. He had been angling for one since they were first commissioned, eager to trade in the proud but drab greys of the conventional service for the deep scarlets of the Red Fleet and the prestige that came with it.
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“And how’s that supposed to work?” he had finally asked.
“Come on, Uriel,” Laughlin had laughed. “You know I can’t tell you everything when we’re in a corridor.”
***
And she hadn’t: it had been a month of refits and conversations before Uriel Locke had finally found out just what in the hells was going on with his ship. By then they’d talked him into wearing this stupid blue uniform, talked him into picking a crew of science officers to bolster his experienced combat crew, talked him into authorising a half-dozen experimental bits and bobs being installed on his ship, from improved particle cannons (always fun) to some sort of defence field redundancy system (‘redundancy system’? Really? Is the word ‘backup generator’ too simplistic for the science boffs?)… well, there’d been no way to reverse it.
But the worst thing… the absolute worst… was the damn ridiculous engine they’d saddled his beautiful ship with.
No. No, not ridiculous. Insane.
When the poncy Sevine engineer they’d brought on board had first said the dreaded words ‘Underspace Drive’, it had been all Uriel could do to not scream at the man that he was valskekked and demand that he and the engine be put off at the nearest airlock. He’d even brought it up with Jayne.
“Uriel, it’s perfectly safe,” she had said. “We’ve tested it thoroughly and Professor Freume is one of the Empire’s best minds.”
That hadn’t been reassuring. It hadn’t even been partially reassuring. If anything, it worried him more. The boffins were always too clever for their own good.
Said Professor Freume was waiting for him on the engineering deck. He wore the same blue uniform everyone else did, his ‘hair’ cut short and slicked back, a smug smile on his pale face that was only accentuated by the frond goatee he had grown. He grinned as he noticed Uriel enter.
“Captain Locke!” he said. “We’re ready to begin our initial trials of the installed engine.”
Uriel nodded without saying anything. He looked at the Underspace drive and scowled. A push drive was little more than a giant, horizontal metal cylinder with heat-release grills, into which energy was cycled, generating the push-effect that allowed for FTL travel. The Underspace drive, by contrast, was a massive vertical transparent galladiun tube, filled with roiling white and red energy that made Uriel feel sick just looking at it.
“Alright, then, Professor,” he said, turning to the Sevine. “What do you need to do?”
“Well, obviously, we’ll need you to select a course,” Freume said, still smiling. “Our new helm officer -” (I had to replace a perfectly competent midshipman because he didn’t know how to fly this new drive, Uriel thought with a suppressed grimace) “- will input your course. After that, we’ve just got to open the singularity and enter the Underspace.”
Locke rolled his eyes. “Oh, is that all? I was worried for a minute there.”
“I know you’ve had your concerns, Captain Locke,” Freume said, apparently not even remotely bothered, “but I promise you, we’re ready for this.”
“That’s a great comfort when we’re talking about a drive that takes us into a parallel universe most people call hell,” Uriel said scathingly.
Freume rolled his eyes, still smiling. “It’s an experimental drive, but we wouldn’t be putting it on ships with people on if we weren’t ready for proper trials. Trust me, sir.”
Uriel didn’t.
“Anyway,” Freume continued, looking at the drive. “We should only be doing short hops – two to three minute shots to the next system over. Nothing too strenuous for the new system yet.”
There’s that term, ‘yet’, Uriel thought, but he shook his head.
“I’m going to rely on you to not blow us up or send us to the hells, Professor,” he said evenly.
“I’ve no intention of going to any hells, believe me on that,” Freume said with a smug smile.
More’s the pity, Freume, Uriel thought, but then he sighed.
“Alright, Professor,” he said. “I want us ready to go the minute I give the word.”
“Oh, we’ll be ready, Captain, have no doubt of that,” Freume said, turning back to his console.
Without another word, Uriel turned and headed out of the engineering deck for the main lift.
Here’s hoping we don’t all pay for this stupidity, he thought, scowling as the lift whirred.
***