FOURTEEN
The tour continued aft along the lower decks. Ivanova noticed that the senior ranking officers were checking their appearance as best they could and trying not to appear out of breath as the tour party arrived at each new section of the Titans.
For the most part, in the Earth Alliance, a ship was a ship was a ship. The Warlock-class was all that, but on a larger scale. That certainly became apparent to General Lefcourt, Mitchell and Ivanova when Graydon escorted them into the companionway that ran alongside the starboard armoury.
“On the Omega-class warships like Apollo, the primary weapon systems are particle-beam lasers and pulsed plasma cannons,” Graydon explained to the Senator. “Secondary systems include just two missile launchers firing fusion-tipped missiles. Each ship has a total complement of forty missiles.”
They stared through the thick glass and looked down at the racks of missiles and the automated conveyors that would load them into the silo blocks extending from either side of the ship.
“Although the Titans has been outfitted with two Aegisclass, railed particle-beam cannons, of the type used on the Global Orbital Defence satellites orbiting this facility and Earth, we also have a total of twenty-eight missile silos that are capable of launching variable yield warheads. This means that the Warlock-class ships are more akin to a mobile defence platform, on a par with anything used by the Minbari.”
“We could have done with this beast back in the war, wouldn’t you say Lieutenant?” Feldon said. Ivanova wondered if he meant the Earth-Minbari War or something more recent.
“Yes sir, I would say,” Graydon replied. “We also have assorted Heavy-, Medium-, and Light-Pulse Cannon turrets. And, to deflect incoming energy barrages, a good number of small-calibre energy and projective AA placements. The armoured hull is between ten and fifteen meters thick and protected by twenty-two Mark III Defence Grid Energy Projectors.”
“Okay, I’m impressed,” Mitchell whispered to Ivanova.
“Yes, she is good, Ivanova replied, misinterpreting what he had said. Instead of paying attention to Graydon, Ivanova had been watching Vathek who, during the tour so far had started to develop a veritable collection of ticks and tremors. Even Senator Feldon showed concerned about his aide who had now begun murmuring incomprehensibly to himself.
It was obvious to Ivanova that Vathek was Psi Corp or maybe even Psi Cop. He might not have the black uniform, instead wearing a dark grey suit and black rollneck sweater, but there was something about his hair that gave it away. It was too glossy and lacked any subtle changes in tone.
All of the Psi Cops Ivanova had encountered, one in particular who had been a recurring irritant during her time on Babylon 5, always looked like they were wearing the most appallingly obvious wigs. The Corps doctor who administered her mother’s regular injections looked like he had straw glued to his
head. Maybe underneath they had implants, which required their heads to be shaved.
“In simple terms, this means the Warlock-class is capable of going head-to-head with a Minbari War Cruiser and can even seize any military installation or planet is so desired with the minimum of casualties on our side,” Graydon continued, oblivious to the deteriorating state of the Senator’s aide. As Graydon led them on toward Engineering, Ivanova blocked Vathek’s path, holding him back from the rest of the party.
“Mister Vathek, how are you doing?” Ivanova asked. He looked pale and gaunt. There was none of the fleshy excess that hung around the jaw lines of the Psi, or the usual look of casual distain. Try as she might, Vathek refused to make eye contact.
“It’s Eldon,” Vathek said, muttering to himself.
“Okay, Eldon. How are you doing?”
“There’s something... I can hear the screaming. Somewhere in the ship I can hearing the screams screaming in my head.”
Trying to figure what was scrambling his head so severely, Ivanova finally looked him in the eye and was taken aback by the hunted and haunted stare.
“Do you want to leave the ship?” she asked.
“Something is wrong. Something feels wrong. I think its me here,” Vathek said. His eye twitched and his right shoulder jerked involuntary. “I think I’m screaming. I think its me.”
He looked up and down the corridor.
“Is it me?” he asked Ivanova. “Am I screaming?”
“Mister Vathek, believe me, you’re not the one screaming,”
Ivanova assured him. She followed his gaze; saw Lefcourt and Mitchell as they moved on to the next compartment. Mitchell glanced back as the bulkhead door closed behind him.
“That’s wrong,” Vathek told her.
She looked him squarely in the eyes, wondering what to do. Ivanova reached out to take Vathek by the arm but he jerked away from her, a sudden look of terror on his face.
“Do you need a doctor?” she asked. “We can go to the MedLab here onboard the ship.”
“Off the ship. Off. Off. The screaming stops off the ship.”
“So let’s get you off the ship,” Ivanova reassured him. She activated her link, said, “This is Ivanova to Berensen, could you come to the starboard armoury companionway.”
She didn’t have long to wait.
“Mister Vathek is feeling unwell,” she told Berensen. “Can you escort him back to the Senator’s shuttle and see that he is taken back to Shipyard Control.”
Berensen started to suggest otherwise but Ivanova just shook her head.
“The screaming is wrong!” Vathek wailed as he grabbed Berensen tightly by the shoulder.
“Then we’ll make the screaming stop, sir,” Berensen said as he calmly peeled Vathek’s clawed fingers from the folds of his uniform, “If you’ll come this way.” Berensen took Vathek firmly by the arm and started leading him back toward the landing bays.
Get him off my ship and let him scream all he wants. Get him off the Titans so he isn’t our responsibility, Ivanova thought to herself, hoping that Vathek’s brain was too scrambled to read her thoughts.
She picked up her pace and hurried after Graydon and the tour party. As the hatch slid open Ivanova turned and looked down at the racks of missiles and the pointed shadows they cast against the walls. She shivered, rubbing her hands to get the warmth back into them. There was something about the ship that unsettled her, whether she could hear screaming or not.
In the engineering section, Graydon had wisely handed over her party over to the Lieutenant Spencer Sheehan, the Titan’s Chief Engineer. Attempting to get all the final checks completed on time, which would even be tight without all the day’s interruptions, Sheehan decided the only way to impress the Senator and get the party turned around and back out the door was to bombard them with facts and hope that would do the trick. For men like Lefcourt and Mitchell, Sheehan knew their only concerns were whether the engines were working and how soon could they propel the ship to its target.
“The Warlock-class Heavy Destroyer is powered by four Military-Type Tokamak Corporation 650 high-energy fusion reactors and two new gravitic-enhanced Ultima 2000 ADV fusion reactors,”
Sheehan explained to Senator Feldon, which produce a combined power output of approximately 300,000 Terawatts. What this means is that this new configuration provides the Titans with significantly greater power than our old Omega-class Destroyers.”
Sheehan saw Graydon wince at his suggestion that the Omegas were past it, especially in the presence of Captain Mitchell. But it was too late to go back on his words, and Sheehan knew that it was better to have said it in front of the Captain than the Apollo’s Chief Engineer who would certainly have taken umbrage at the fact.
“You’ll want one of these for yourself soon, Captain,”
Feldon said to Mitchell, adding to everyone’s discomfort.
“Yes sir,” Mitchell answered with all the enthusiasm he could muster.
“We’ll put your name down before we go, Charlie, maybe we can bump you up the list,” Lefcourt murmured, bringing a smile to Mitchell’s face.
“Propulsion is provided by a series of Z-105 Ion/Particle thrust engines which significantly improve the ship’s linear acceleration and rate of turn,” Sheehan quickly continued. To try and get across the fact that he was busy, Sheehan had purposely carried on reviewing reports handed to him by his team as he began reeling off the facts and figures. Now he was getting into his stride and ignored the crewmen that briefly loitered close by before returning, chagrined, to their stations.
“You may have noticed before coming aboard that the Titans does not have a central rotating section,” he said before Graydon could announce that they were moving on. “From the beginning, the
Warlock-class was designed to incorporate an artificial gravity system.”
“One of the promises made by the aliens if Earth joined this Interstellar Alliance,” Feldon noted. He stamped his foot on the floor as a way of proving to himself that the artificial gravity was functioning.
“EarthForce Research and Development had already gone some way to create an artificial environment,” Sheehan told the Senator, neglecting to admit that the technical information required during the initial design stages had, in part, been stolen from the Centauri Republic. “Initial tests managed to replicate a 0.3G environment used in the Warlock prototypes. But yes, the Minbari recently provided fully functional gravimetric technology.”
“Thank you for your time, Chief,” Graydon said as she saw Ivanova appear in the doorway.
“Thank you Lieutenant Sheehan,” Feldon said, shaking his hand. “This ship is certainly one to be proud of.”
“Yes sir, thank you sir,” Sheehan replied. He saluted General Lefcourt and Captain Mitchell who both gave him knowing smiles on their way out.
“Thank you, Chief,” Ivanova said, pleased by the good work he had done impressing the Senator. “If we get any additional funding in the next budget review it’ll be all down to you.”
Ivanova was about to follow the inspection party out of Engineering when the ceiling lights above her suddenly flickered and lost intensity, leaving only the lights on the nearby consoles shimmering in the darkened room.
“You have a mood-lighting setting fitted, Chief?” Ivanova asked. She looked up at the sections of dimmed ceiling lights vainly struggling to return to their full brightness, feeling pressure built up in her skull as she tilted her head back.
“No sir, Captain,” Sheehan barked, not so much puzzled by the anomaly but angry that it had happened in front of her. He looked thankful that the visiting dignitaries had left just in time. “It looks like a minor glitch in the systems.”
“Have you had anything like this reported before?”
“No sir, the ship has been faultless--”
“So far,” Ivanova interrupted.
“I’m sure it’s just something minor,” Sheehan added.
“Which under different circumstances could prove to be pretty major,” Ivanova observed.
“Yes sir,” he said.
“Get it fixed, Chief,” Ivanova said as she headed through the open bulkhead. She rubbed her hands to warm them up, wondering what else was going to go wrong.
“Yes sir,” the Chief barked. He threw a stern look at two technicians standing off to his side. Quickly they began removing panels from the walls to inspect the exposed bundles of circuitry and wiring that lay hidden behind.