it’s a long conversation with many aspects. I’ll be glad to discuss it with you privately. Yes . . . ?’
A thoughtful-looking cadet with a beard. ‘One hears rumours that several of our projects aren’t quite as impartial as you paint them. There have been instances that don’t stack up lately. Has Tigon’s vision been subverted?’
A murmur went around the room. Vanqua was standing up quickly.
‘Do you have any comment?’ the cadet persisted. ‘For instance, why are we on a participating vessel?’
Cain locked eyes with him, ‘I’m trying to find out.’
His reply wasn’t the evasion they expected but a deliberate affirmation. The cadets looked at each other.
‘Already too many questions,’ Vanqua cut in. ‘Enough.’
Zuiden appeared at lunch. After the meal he brushed by Cain and drawled almost admiringly, ‘You’re some messy sleeper.’
CATS BENEATH THE MOON
D inner was early that evening to accommodate the first tour of the ship. Spencer handed half of them security tags and told them to sign out. As Cain joined the line of cadets he saw the sandy hair of Zuiden ahead.
Then Hunt joined the line in a jumpsuit that fitted her disturbingly. Were they mad?
He dropped back two places to talk to her. ‘Why not give it a miss till tomorrow?’ He flicked his eyes toward Zuiden.
‘I can’t. Vanqua insists I go tonight. Something about things looking right.’
‘Rhonda went along with that?’
She nodded.
‘Then you’d better stay close to me.’
‘She said I had to.’
Great, he thought. Now I’m nurse.
First stop was a tour around the hangar bay conducted by a black chief petty officer. ‘We’ve got two acres in here but as you see we don’t waste space. Ship’s so big no one ever sees all of it and even if you had your own brother on board, you’d be lucky to run across him in a year.’
Beyond the closely parked, chained aircraft was a vast oval in the hull. A rating stood in the middle of it, outlined against moonlit wave-crests, arms spread wide and down, hands pointing to the deck. A klaxon sounded twice then kept on sounding as a plane with ugly splayed landing gear descended on a huge exterior platform.
‘Deck-edge elevator, one of four,’ the petty officer yelled. ‘Can strike down aircraft in 30 seconds. He pointed out features of the bay. ‘Refuelling outlets over there. Hangar control. Bomb-proof doors. Conflag station up near the overhead. Fire control’s a big deal here, when you consider all the go-juice and ordinance . . .’
Cain stared at drop tanks cradled in racks far above. He’d noticed that the cadets glanced at him admiringly and found it disconcerting. Hunt stayed by him. Fortunately Zuiden was still up front.
‘This is a Tomcat . . .’
The group stopped to examine the fighter which was being maintained by blue-shirted mechanics on a work stand. As questions started Cain walked around the dirty-looking plane, reading instructions written on it. COOLANT ELECTRICAL DISCONNECT. ADAPTOR INSTL. UMBILICAL ACTUATION HOOK. COMMAND SIGNAL DECODER. There were vanes behind the engine exhausts — one set open, one closed.
‘What are these for?’ he asked.
‘Turkey feathers,’ the man said. ‘New GE engines. You take off closed down. No afterburner. Melt the blast shield. Just military thrust.’
He didn’t understand or much care. He touched Hunt’s arm and fell back behind a fork-lift to talk to her unheard. ‘What exactly did Rhonda say to you?’
‘We can’t talk here.’ She walked ahead.
‘This is a Hornet,’ their escort explained. ‘A strike fighter we convert to attack role by adding weapon racks. Heavy on juice. Always looking for plugs . . .’
Cain trailed the group, keeping an eye on Zuiden, who was asking a question about repairs. Their guide was keen to inform him. ‘We keep the down birds back this end. Got aircraft shops, spare parts stowage. Engine maintenance astern. Planes are cranky, like babies. When we
A thoughtful-looking cadet with a beard. ‘One hears rumours that several of our projects aren’t quite as impartial as you paint them. There have been instances that don’t stack up lately. Has Tigon’s vision been subverted?’
A murmur went around the room. Vanqua was standing up quickly.
‘Do you have any comment?’ the cadet persisted. ‘For instance, why are we on a participating vessel?’
Cain locked eyes with him, ‘I’m trying to find out.’
His reply wasn’t the evasion they expected but a deliberate affirmation. The cadets looked at each other.
‘Already too many questions,’ Vanqua cut in. ‘Enough.’
Zuiden appeared at lunch. After the meal he brushed by Cain and drawled almost admiringly, ‘You’re some messy sleeper.’
CATS BENEATH THE MOON
D inner was early that evening to accommodate the first tour of the ship. Spencer handed half of them security tags and told them to sign out. As Cain joined the line of cadets he saw the sandy hair of Zuiden ahead.
Then Hunt joined the line in a jumpsuit that fitted her disturbingly. Were they mad?
He dropped back two places to talk to her. ‘Why not give it a miss till tomorrow?’ He flicked his eyes toward Zuiden.
‘I can’t. Vanqua insists I go tonight. Something about things looking right.’
‘Rhonda went along with that?’
She nodded.
‘Then you’d better stay close to me.’
‘She said I had to.’
Great, he thought. Now I’m nurse.
First stop was a tour around the hangar bay conducted by a black chief petty officer. ‘We’ve got two acres in here but as you see we don’t waste space. Ship’s so big no one ever sees all of it and even if you had your own brother on board, you’d be lucky to run across him in a year.’
Beyond the closely parked, chained aircraft was a vast oval in the hull. A rating stood in the middle of it, outlined against moonlit wave-crests, arms spread wide and down, hands pointing to the deck. A klaxon sounded twice then kept on sounding as a plane with ugly splayed landing gear descended on a huge exterior platform.
‘Deck-edge elevator, one of four,’ the petty officer yelled. ‘Can strike down aircraft in 30 seconds. He pointed out features of the bay. ‘Refuelling outlets over there. Hangar control. Bomb-proof doors. Conflag station up near the overhead. Fire control’s a big deal here, when you consider all the go-juice and ordinance . . .’
Cain stared at drop tanks cradled in racks far above. He’d noticed that the cadets glanced at him admiringly and found it disconcerting. Hunt stayed by him. Fortunately Zuiden was still up front.
‘This is a Tomcat . . .’
The group stopped to examine the fighter which was being maintained by blue-shirted mechanics on a work stand. As questions started Cain walked around the dirty-looking plane, reading instructions written on it. COOLANT ELECTRICAL DISCONNECT. ADAPTOR INSTL. UMBILICAL ACTUATION HOOK. COMMAND SIGNAL DECODER. There were vanes behind the engine exhausts — one set open, one closed.
‘What are these for?’ he asked.
‘Turkey feathers,’ the man said. ‘New GE engines. You take off closed down. No afterburner. Melt the blast shield. Just military thrust.’
He didn’t understand or much care. He touched Hunt’s arm and fell back behind a fork-lift to talk to her unheard. ‘What exactly did Rhonda say to you?’
‘We can’t talk here.’ She walked ahead.
‘This is a Hornet,’ their escort explained. ‘A strike fighter we convert to attack role by adding weapon racks. Heavy on juice. Always looking for plugs . . .’
Cain trailed the group, keeping an eye on Zuiden, who was asking a question about repairs. Their guide was keen to inform him. ‘We keep the down birds back this end. Got aircraft shops, spare parts stowage. Engine maintenance astern. Planes are cranky, like babies. When we
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