Free The Lazarus War: Artefact by Jamie Sawyer Page A

ship, in a barracks usually designated for shipboard marines. The layout of the ship had taken some reconsideration, to accommodate an enlarged medical suite – a necessity given that we were to be operating the simulator-tanks from there.
    Before I had a proper chance to think about exploring the rest of the ship, the PA sounded again: “Captain Harris, please report to Observation. Captain Harris, to the observation deck.”
      
    The crew politely acknowledged me as I made my way to Observation, with nods and informal salutes. My rank didn’t mean much to the Naval crew – at least not officially – but I guessed that some of them had heard of me. A couple of times, whispers were exchanged behind my back. Maybe the conversations were positive, but they were just as likely to be negative. After all, who would want to travel into the Maelstrom? They probably blamed me for the operation in general.
    Observation was a functional open deck, with large windows covering the outer hull wall. Already, the Point – with that distinctive vertical hub and multiple outer-ring formation; a giant spinning top – and the fleet were becoming more distant. Space was opening up before us: stars sprinkling the void.
    Atkins stood alone at the far end of the deck, hands clasped behind his back. That seemed to be his preferred stance. He didn’t turn to acknowledge me when I arrived, but gave a curt nod to my reflection in the window.
    “We won’t be making proper progress until the Q-drive activates,” Atkins said.
    “I guess we’ll be in hypersleep for that. The ship’s itinerary says sleep call is in an hour.”
    “It’s standard operating procedure for ground crew to hibernate first, to be followed by the Navy staff,” Atkins reeled off. He liked procedure; knowing regulation gave him a veneer of confidence. “Then the ship’s AI will take over, and the Q-drive will be activated.”
    “I take it that you didn’t call me here to talk about the itinerary?” I said. I wasn’t quite sure why he had asked for my attendance; he seemed to know his stuff, and I was prepared to defer final judgement on his character.
    He broke a bitter smile. “No, I didn’t. It was something a bit more personal than that.”
    “Go on.”
    “The Oregon is a good ship,” he started. Then, voice dropping in pitch a little; his confident façade seeming to crack ever so slightly: “My crew are good people. One and all.”
    “I know. I might be infantry, Atkins, but I’m not stupid.”
    “I’m asking you to look after them, is all. I’m asking you to make wise choices while we’re out there .” He waved a hand towards the observation window, towards the Maelstrom beyond the plexiglass. It was much larger than either the territories occupied by the Alliance or the Asiatic Directorate.
    “Have you ever been into the Maelstrom?” I asked.
    “No, I haven’t. But I’ve read the Operation Keystone briefing, such that I’m entitled to. The details are scant. They tell me that we’re going after some sort of ghost signal – that Science Division has found an alien artefact on a backwater Krell world?”
    “If you know that much, then you know almost as much as me. I’ll reveal the rest as soon as I have clearance.”
    Atkins grew quiet for a moment.
    “I understand that,” he eventually continued. “Regulation and procedure must be adhered to. It’s just that – well, any starship captain would be anxious about this sort of operation.”
    I rubbed my chin. “Let’s agree on something. I’ll depend on you to run this ship, exactly as you see fit, and you depend on me to do everything I can to bring you and your crew back in one piece.”
    Atkins smiled again, but this time a smile of relief. He briskly turned to me and held out his hand. We shook; his grip was surprisingly strong for a sailor. He had a wedding-band on one hand: undecorated, functional.
    “You can depend on me, Captain,” he said.
    “And you can do the same