Dark Running (Fourth Fleet Irregulars Book 4) (21 page)

Jonas grimaced a little, giving a little shake of his head.

‘Since we’re speaking frankly, sir, I doubt that I can do very much,’ he admitted. ‘I knew that your financial affairs were somewhat entangled, of course, but I had no idea of the scale of it until I began looking into it in detail. Quite honestly, sir, I’ve never seen anything like it.’

‘I don’t think anybody has,’ Alex agreed, with a rueful note. ‘It just kind of sneaked up on us. I knew that things were getting more and more involved, of course, but we were doing our best to stay on top of it simply by filing all the relevant records with Finance and expecting that they’d sort it out. It wasn’t till we got back to Novamas and I got hit with four hundred and seventy three memos from Finance wanting
me
to sort things out that I realised what a mess we’re in. It’s like one of those logic games where every step is entirely logical in itself but the culminating effect is utterly absurd.’

Jonas nodded emphatic agreement. ‘Yes, that’s it exactly. You can follow it through, step by step, every decision apparently reasonable and beneficial but altogether…’ he gestured expressively with his fork, ‘disastrous.’

The Fourth had been part-funded by the Second Irregulars even before they
were
the Fourth, as Alex had had a deal lined up with the Second as soon as he took command of his first ship. They had put space-trials of hot tech his way, with funding to cover their expenses.

Then, innocently enough, the League Prisons Authority had offered to part-fund the installation of the brig as part of the Heron’s refit. Dix Harangay had agreed, not so much on financial grounds as on accepting that if the LPA helped with the design, installation and funding of the unit, that would give them an ongoing right of inspection over it. Alex was more than happy with that, glad of their expertise and advice, and it would provide an additional, independent inspectorate confirming that the Fourth was not abusing any prisoners they might have in detention. That had seemed like a good deal all round, so the agreement had been signed.

That had, however, set a precedent, so when Customs and Excise asked for a similar agreement over the installation of a high security storage facility with drug testing equipment, Dix had agreed to that, too.

Then the Sub-Committee had got involved. When the Diplomatic Corps had asked for the Fourth to go out to Sixships and blow up the Amity station, the Sub-Committee had approved that, on the understanding that the Diplomatic Corps met at least part of the operational costs. They had also negotiated funding from the Diplomatic Corps for the Fourth undertaking care and responsibility for Shion, and for the exodiplomacy aspects of their operations at Novamas. They had also decided that the Fourth was entitled to funding from Senate budgets for the work they undertook at the President’s request.

As a result, they were now receiving funding from six sources, including the Admiralty. That would not be a problem in itself if all that funding went to a central pot in the Admiralty and they administered it in just the same way any other unit got their assigned budgets.

That was just not how it had worked out, though. Each of the funding organisations was entitled to full report on how their money had been spent, and it was apparently not enough to merely copy Admiralty records to them. In addition, each new funding source seemed to have spawned an entirely independent set of budgets which seemed somehow to be interbreeding. Catering budgets were an impenetrable quagmire. Alex had more than fifty memos from Finance on the subject of cookies alone. He was in the habit of drawing packets of cookies from supplies and handing them out as unofficial rewards. Depending on who he gave them to and why, they might be charged to any one of seventeen different budgets. Finance had asked him, in all seriousness, to provide a formula by which they might calculate budgetary allocation based on various combinations of people sharing a packet of biscuits.

As if that wasn’t bad enough, the funding that came in from outside sources was not in
addition
to their Admiralty budgets, but was compensated for by those budgets being cut by an equivalent amount. Just what budgets should be cut, though, and by how much, and when, were matters of such intricate debate that nobody could make any sense of it. Conflicting decisions had been made by different people, different places, different times, with entirely incompatible policies issued at Novamas, Therik and Chartsey. Appeals to the Sub-Committee to resolve this had resulted in them appointing a three-person quango to assess it and report back to them. After some days attempting to make any kind of sense of the accounts, the quango had written to Alex, asking him to explain them. The best Dix had been able to do had been to say he’d send them a forensic accountant to help out. Jonas Sartin was one of the best forensic accountants in IA, but it was clear that even he was not optimistic.

‘I’ll do my best, of course,’ he said.

‘I know it’s a lot to ask,’ said Alex. ‘But – forgive me – I do just have ask you to be careful about discussing any aspects of our financial affairs with Mr North.’

Jonas Sartin drew himself bolt upright, looking indignant. ‘My apologies,’ Alex said, seeing that he’d caused offence. ‘It’s just that he is, after all, a business financier, and it would be natural in a way to discuss financial affairs with him.’

‘Not for
me
, sir.’ Jonas said. ‘I have every respect for Mr North both as a financier and a diplomat, but I would
never
consider it to be appropriate to discuss any aspect of Fleet finances with a civilian, or any unauthorised person.’

‘Understood, and thank you.’ Alex said. ‘He did offer, you see, to have a look at our accounts on the way back from Novamas, but I declined, obviously, just in no way appropriate to allow a civilian that kind of access. And I am, perhaps, I will admit, perhaps a little over-sensitive on the issue of corporate involvement.’

Jonas didn’t laugh, though his glance conveyed quick amusement. He knew very well what Alex had said about corporate consultancies being tantamount to corruption, and how delicate a matter it was for him to be so closely associated with a man who owned such corporations. The Heron would not even accept so much as a box of candy from the Stepeasy, on principle. The evidence from the Fourth’s accounts was that Alex was, indeed, hypersensitive on the issue of accepting even the most trivial benefit from any corporate source. Jonas found that more admirable than otherwise.

‘Well, I won’t discuss this with him, sir,’ he promised.

Alex smiled thanks, and gestured encouragingly for Jonas to go on eating his lunch, which Jonas did.

‘So, come on,’ Alex said, when Jonas had eaten a little more. ‘You must
have
questions,’ he pointed out. ‘You’ve said that you do. So please, Mr Sartin – go ahead and ask them.’

‘Well, there is one thing,’ Jonas admitted. ‘Purely personal, really - the singing, after we launched. I’ve been longing to ask – is that something you’ve trained the ship’s company in, as a launch custom?’

‘No.’ Alex laughed. ‘That was down to our Comms Sub on the Gide mission. The Turnaround procedure we’d developed meant that we were spending around ten minutes between bumping the Firewall, waiting at stations. Ten minutes doesn’t sound much, I know, but it can feel like a long time when you’re waiting with nothing to do. After more than a thousand turnarounds, too, it was identified as a factor in falling morale. Our Subs took that on, the junior officer of the watch providing entertainment during the T-standby periods. They did all sorts – quizzes, games, read from books, DJ’d music requests. And, one watch, taught us to sing the Gloriatzi – it was, looking back on it, fairly surreal, starting out with singing notes to establish what vocal range we were in, learning parts and practicing, all in ten minute slots between hurling our ship at an alien forcefield that rendered us unconscious, but at the time, it was just a pleasant way to pass the morning.’

‘Wow.’ Jonas couldn’t help laughing at that, shaking his head, quite at ease in Alex’s company, now. ‘I see what you mean about having to redefine ‘normal’,’ he observed. ‘But is that the only chorale you learned, then?’

‘Yes – the only song we all know properly,’ Alex said, giving him a questioning look.

‘I, uh, have a particular interest in choral music,’ Jonas confessed, as if admitting to a somewhat embarrassing vice. ‘I was involved in the choir on the Demeter.’ He’d served on the carrier Demeter before assignment to the Zeus. ‘A very musical ship, the Demeter – choir, orchestra, quite a few bands. Strictly amateur, of course. But our choirmaster was very good – taught singing individually, as well as rehearsing us together. I ended up helping with that, was assistant choirmaster by the end. I did hope to continue that when I was posted to the Zeus, but, well, you are familiar, I am sure, with Captain Urquart’s views on music.’

Alex gave a spurt of laughter, remembering. He had spent three months on the Zeus himself, as a Lt, as part of his rapid ‘tagged and flagged’ progress, gaining experience of a wide range of ships. Part of the tagged and flagged programme was that officers on it were expected to carry out studies on the ships they served aboard, providing both the skipper and the Admiralty with detailed reports suggesting what improvements might be made under a broad list of headings. It was not surprising, really, that many skippers regarded the arrival of a tagged and flagged officer as an annoying imposition. Most of them, though, managed to be more gracious about it than Captain Urquart had been upon receiving Lt von Strada’s recommendations.

‘Has he still got that awful band?’ Alex asked, and Jonas’s face lit up with answering laughter.

‘Oh, yes!’ Captain Urquart was of the view that as the flagship of the homeworld squadron, entertaining VIPs on such a frequent basis, the Zeus needed their own full time ceremonial band. They fanfared visitors aboard, oompahed through dinners and receptions, and blazed the League and Fleet anthems at every opportunity. One of the recommendations that had made Captain Urquart turn puce with indignation had been under ‘financial management’, in which Alex had suggested that the cost of the band was an unnecessary expense to the ship, as they represented very poor value for money.

‘Dreadful
, aren’t they?’ Jonas agreed. ‘Though I’m sure they’re good musicians, really, it’s just the dreadful, unrelenting oompah, oompah, pom pom pom. Captain Urquart’s choice, of course, so I shouldn’t criticise, but...’ he grinned eloquently and Alex laughed again, too. ‘I did ask if I could start a choir there, finding that there wasn’t one, but I was told that was not considered appropriate now that I was a Lt Commander, and that there wouldn’t be sufficient interest aboard the ship to make it worthwhile, anyway. But it’s something that I’ve always felt some regret about. Hearing the singing after the launch, I thought there must be a choir, but there isn’t one listed on the interest groups. I
had
heard rumours that you have an operatic society, but that isn’t listed, either.’

‘No, though you may hear some individuals or duets doing operatic numbers on talent nights,’ Alex said. ‘That was Kate Naos – Dr Naos, who was with us to install the topographic scanner. She has an extraordinary voice – I’ve never seen, or rather, heard, anything like her singing with the engines, human voice and twenty four dimensional harmonics in perfect unison, just incredible. Some of our crew have half decent amateur voices and she worked with them to put on a recital. It was never anything so formal as a society, though. Feel free to start one, if you like, or a choir.’

‘Really?’ A flush of pleasure rose into Jonas’s cheeks. ‘Is that something that would be considered appropriate, sir, for a watch commander?’

‘Oh, entirely.’ Alex smiled. ‘We have a wide range of societies – academic, sporting and cultural. We haven’t got into that yet, being so busy pre-launch and now getting to grips with the mission, but as we settle into deep space routines you’ll find all sorts going on. We generally don’t expect new people to take an active part in that at least for the first month or so, since we recognise you have enough to do in your orientation month. After that, though, Buzz will be sounding you out to see what contribution you could make. Officers are expected to give some time to the social life of the ship, even if that’s no more than agreeing to referee an occasional flickball game. If you’d like to start a choir, though, go to. Talk to Buzz about it – he coordinates social provision.’

‘Thank you, sir.’ Jonas said, looking delighted, but with a tinge of anxiety. ‘And do you think there
would
be interest in that, then? Enough to form a choir?’

‘No idea.’ Alex admitted. ‘People do like to sing, I know that – talent night is always popular, and on the odd occasions I allow music on the PA there’s a lot of singing along. It depends, I suppose, on what you’re proposing to teach them and how you go about it – if it’s fun, people will join. If it isn’t, they won’t.’

‘Well, I’ll give it a try,’ Jonas said, with a note of decision.

‘Excellent.’ Alex gave him a nod of approval for that, but as both of them had finished their lunch by then, got up and began to clear the table. Jonas knew it was time to go back to work, too, though the half hour they’d spent talking had been invaluable. As they left the daycabin together, there was a sense of understanding between them, and mutual respect. ‘Just, please,’ Alex said, as they went the short distance across the main airlock reception area and into the command deck, ‘no oompah, oompah, pom pom pom.’

He sang that comically. Jonas had cracked into laughing before he realised that Alex had done that deliberately. They were on the command deck by then. Everyone there, and anyone with an eye on the command deck feed on comscreens throughout the ship, would see the skipper and second Lt joking, laughing, clearly on very good terms. For a moment, Jonas felt an instinct to withdraw, to stiffen up into formality again, so conscious of all the startled, searching eyes. But then he made a decision – he had to make a commitment, here, to give this everything
he
had, and that meant following the skipper’s lead.