Not Without Honor: The MacCollie Series, Book One

By Dennis E. Smirl

Naomi Bricklin is a MacCollie scout, tasked with visiting unexplored solar systems in hope of finding uninhabited, earthlike planets that can be colonized by the Fellowship of Humanity. As she is passing through an ordinary star system, her ship is suddenly attacked and destroyed. Naomi is lucky to escape with her life, taking the single lifeboat to the surface of the planet she had been approaching. Upon landing, she finds a planet that is anything but uninhabited.

When the MacCollie Company learns that one of their ships has been destroyed, they ask Fleet to investigate. Fleet Cruiser DeBellevue, Captained by Commander MacMillan wing is dispatched with a mandate to return with the scout pilot, if she survived, along with all intelligence that had been gathered.

On the way to the rescue attempt, DeBellevue is met by another starship, and military personnel from the Directorate of Special Operations board the starship to provide additional security. Commander Wing isn't happy—particularly when the leader of the extra unit of Marines is an old nemesis—but orders are orders.

While DeBellevue travels toward her destination, Naomi Bricklin is learning the ways of a very different human society—if, indeed, the society is human. As she gets acquainted with new characters, all of whom have similar appearances, she begins to sort them into two categories—human and non-human. One of those she sees as non-human, a male named Kanayo, becomes her mentor and companion without either of them wishing it so.

Upon arrival at the planet, Commander Wing deploys his forces in an attempt to find the missing scout. His efforts are frustrated by the surplus Marines and their commander, Colonel Kiddeman. In short order, Kiddeman takes her entire complement of Blackjacket Marines to the planet's surface, along with three containers that Wing later learns contain planet-busting nuclear devices.

Through electronic contact with Naomi Bricklin, and good intelligence-gathering on the part of his people, Wing begins to understand Kiddeman's mission. She has been assigned to destroy all life on the planet, and then kill Wing and his entire crew. Wing needs an ally, and finds it in the society on the planet below. During the final encounter, Wing's people are being overrun by Kiddeman's Marines until those fighting for the survival of their planet intervene in Wing's favor and destroy Kiddeman's force.

When the battle is over, and the dead have been buried, Wing talks with a representative of those who live on the planet, Madame Chen. She explains the existence of those who don't quite look human, and tells Wing that for two hundred years, elements of the Fellowship of Humanity have wanted to destroy them. To prevent that, she and the rest of her society are going to board star ships and travel to a very distant new world, where they hope to remain unmolested for hundreds, if not thousands of years. Wing takes the scout pilot and the remainder of his forces up to DeBellevue, and heads for home port.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Dennis E. Smirl
• Release date: Dec 27, 2015
• ISBN: 9781310986260

Dennis E. Smirl

Dennis E. Smirl has been an Air Force officer, a salesman for a Fortune 500 company, a school psychologist, a computer science instructor at several colleges and universities, and a business owner. Married to his college sweetheart for more than half a century, he has spent time in Mexico, Japan, and South Vietnam, but prefers to take family vacations in the USA and Canada. A writer for as long as he can remember—he attempted a first novel at age ten—his first taste of national publication was a race report written and published in 1965. A science fiction fan for almost the same length of time, Mr. Smirl joined the Science Fiction Book Club when member numbers were much shorter. Beyond his interest in Science Fiction, he has had a lifetime interest in horseback riding, auto racing (as a driver), golf, photography, computers and information processing, and mystery novels. He has written thirteen novels and more than seventy short stories and novellas.

Book preview

Prologue

Haven, 18 Mar 2360.

The floater skirted the base of the sleeping volcano at more than 200 kilometers per hour. A dangerous velocity over a smooth and polished parkway, it was doubly so when skimming only a few meters above boulder-strewn slopes in the predawn twilight. Still, the risk of speed was less than the danger that lay ahead—because this mission was not a drill! Alpha Platoon had been deployed from outpost K-16, and told to ready their weapons.

Inside the floater, Lieutenant Ritha Al-Habar’s concern grew as his troops checked and rechecked their weapons. From the skimpy information he’d been given before rushing his platoon of little brothers into the floater, an armed force waited for them just over the next ridge line. But the little brothers were too eager. They showed the anticipation of combat—and something more—by the wild glint in their eyes, the sheen of perspiration on their foreheads, and the lips drawn tightly across their teeth.

Yuri, Al-Habar said to his platoon leader. Calm your fighters. We have another five minutes before we reach our objective. I don’t want an accidental weapons discharge.

Yes, sir. But Yuri’s eyes were almost as wide with excitement as those of his troops. "I will do what I can. But they are—we are—ready to fight, sir—no matter what we find out there."

Look, I don’t know what’s out there, either, Al-Habar replied. All I was told was that we were going to engage an enemy force.

Yuri breathed deeply before saying, I was told all the dissidents had been scattered or disarmed.

Al-Habar heard the suspicion in Yuri's tone. Evidently, we missed a few.

We won't miss them this time, sir.

Very good, Yuri. But it wasn't very good. Al-Habar feared he was losing control, and as much as he hated the idea, worried that he would have to order the armor each member of his platoon wore to administer half a milliliter of Tranquilate. Otherwise...

Message for you, the floater pilot said. Eyes Only.

Route it. Al-Habar subvocalized a command to his armor and a special visor slid down across his face shield. Now, only he could see the out-of-phase hologram that appeared above the holoplate. As he did, a face formed: Colonel Jan Secerak, his immediate superior. What's you ETA at the target area, Lieutenant?

Four an a half minutes, sir. And we're ready to engage the enemy.

Don't get cocky. This isn't just a bunch of half-wit rebels with more firepower than brains. Something came in from the Mount Placid observatory. I want you to see it before you deploy.

Secerak’s image was replaced by a holo of something large against the background of space. It took the Al-Habar a moment to gain a point of reference. The scale at the edge of the viewing field should have helped—but it didn’t. If it was correct, Al-Habar was looking at a ship in orbit around their planet. The largest part was a cylinder more than eight hundred meters long. Behind that sat a trio of cubes, arranged in an equilateral triangle and attached to one end of the cylinder by an intricate system of girders. He estimated that each of the boxlike structures had to be more than two hundred meters on a side. And at the other end, a huge disk more than nine hundred meters in diameter and a hundred meters thick.

Is it Fleet, sir? The question formed reluctantly in his mouth. Al-Habar’s military discipline was holding him to protocol, but in his mind he was already screaming: They’ve found us! They’ve come through three hundred light years of empty space to kill us all!

We believe it to be a starship.

Tell me something I didn't know! Al-Habar wanted to order his armor to administer that first dose of Tranquilate. Unfortunately, the armor of a human officer was not equipped with the same safeguards as that of the little brothers.

Your objective is to surround and secure a downed lander from that ship, Secerak was saying. No matter what the cost.

The initial shock had passed, and the lieutenant began to notice more detail in the holo. The ship was punched full of holes, as if it had taken last place in a battle that lasted far too long. Maybe whoever was inside was hurt too badly to be much of a threat—or was that just wishful thinking?

How did Fleet find us, sir? How did they know where to look? He wished he could raise his visor and wipe at the sudden sweat that now bathed his face and trickled down his neck.

Secerak shook his head. We don’t know that it is Fleet, Lieutenant. What we do know is that it didn’t use either of the jump points that give access to Fellowship territory. And it doesn’t match configurations of any known design.

His mind spun. A moment before he had thought a Fleet landing his worst nightmare. Now he wasn't so sure. ‘It’s been nearly a century. Designs may have changed—"

The analysts don’t think so. We have to allow for the possibility that it’s neither Fleet nor MacCollie—and proceed accordingly.

What action should we take?

Peripherally, Al-Habar saw Yuri studying him intently. The platoon leader was growing agitated, mirroring the tension in his officer’s body language.

At this stage, your orders remain unchanged. You are to secure the area and let no one through the perimeter. But I want you to consider that if the crew is not— Secerak hesitated, —MacCollie or Fleet, they might be… something else.

Something else? SomeTHING else? Al-Habar could hear his heart pounding in his ears.

I know this may be unsettling, Lieutenant. But I don’t send my officers into a situation blind if I can help it.

Al-Habar's gut tightened against his spine. What do I tell the little brothers, sir?

I’ll leave that to your judgment. Their perspective, Secerak’s face eased into a wry smile, is bound to be a bit different from ours. The smile turned grim. I don’t want anyone going off half-cocked if the situation deteriorates. Under no circumstance are you to initiate hostile action, nor are you to tighten the perimeter to less than one hundred meters until we can get our reinforcements in there.

How long will that be?

They’re an hour behind you. Perhaps less.

What if we come under fire?

You are authorized to take defensive action, using as much force as you deem necessary to hold your position and safeguard your personnel. Are there other questions?

Only one. The unthinkable question. And until that very moment, the unaskable question. But Ritha Al-Habar was perhaps less dogmatic than most officers and, in that moment, more frightened by the prospect of planetary genocide than by breaking the taboo of the Great Truth. Beyond that, he had a responsibility to his own command that transcended personal concerns.

Yes, sir. He swallowed, neck muscles sandpapering a throat gone dry. Will we be facing… non-human forces? His eyes locked with the image of his commanding officer, demanding the truth, no matter what the damage to centuries of Human faith and dogma.

The colonel's nod was virtually imperceptible, almost certainly deniable. I never heard you ask that question, Lieutenant. Secerak out.

A moment later, Al-Habar felt the floater slowing to a stop. They had arrived at their destination and he was spared the decision of what and how much to inform his charges. Turning to Yuri, he said, Set up a perimeter around the objective. Send squad one right, squad two left. Keep squad three in reserve. Stay low. No one fires unless I give the order.

Once he’d deployed his platoon, Al-Habar moved away from the floater and dropped to the ground. He crawled to the top of the ridge that hid the floater from the downed shuttle, stopped, took a deep breath to calm his fears, and then crawled forward another meter to steal a quick glance at the objective.

Dark gray where it wasn't streaked with the soot of re-entry, the machine was a delta-winged re-entry vehicle more than fifty meters long—a menacing hulk in the faint pre-dawn light. Twin-tailed, thick through the middle of the fuselage, with bumps along its surface that might be weapons pods, the machine looked to be built for a single purpose—war!

According to his sensors, it was also dangerously radioactive. Al-Habar felt relieved that his colonel had ordered him to stay put until reinforcements arrived. He was turning to his right to check on Squad One when a projectile moving at more than two thousand meters per second slammed through his helmet and exploded inside, smashing his head into a bloody mush.

For Ritha Al-Habar all questions abruptly ceased. For his platoon, it was like the release of a geyser. Screaming at the tops of their lungs, they stormed the alien shuttle.

&&&&

Except for a spot of light at its center, the room was dark. The circle of illumination was restricted to the straight-backed metal chair and the man who sat upon it.

Colonel Secerak, a reminder. You do understand that these proceedings are Top Secret, ULTRA? his unseen interrogator asked.

I do.

Then let’s begin. He paused to clear his throat. In your opinion, Colonel, could anything have been done to prevent the annihilation of the crew of the alien shuttle?

No. Once Lieutenant Al-Habar was dead, there was no… human control. The little brothers stormed the shuttle and fought until there was nothing left alive to fight.

Had they been told that their opponents were members of an alien race and potentially valuable sources of military intelligence?

No, they had not. However, I do not believe it would have made a difference. Once their officer was dead, control was lost.

I see. And how many members of the platoon were lost in this action?

Eighteen killed, including the platoon leader. The other fourteen were all wounded.

Considering the losses taken by the platoon, how would you rate the fighting potential of the aliens?

Secerak paused. He wanted—he had to be correct in his judgment. I would rate them as somewhere between human and little brother. They were aggressive and tenacious, but their tactics were basically unsound. Rather than fight as a unit, they fought as individuals and were annihilated as a result of that mistake.

In your opinion, what was the major deficiency regarding the tactics our unit employed?

Our error was having a single human officer in command. Once he was dead, the platoon operated on what had been programmed into them. I would suggest that in the future, all platoons have a second human officer. But even that might not always preclude such an event.

Wasn’t such a rule in effect when little brothers were first employed in combat operations?

I don’t know. So little information regarding the employment of these fighters survived the Wars of Separation. But the issue of the little brothers’ predisposition—

In your opinion, Colonel, what would happen if combat units of the Fellowship encountered this alien race?

Secerak's face twisted into a fierce grin. They’d have more to contend with than trying to find and exterminate us. He held up a hand and looked at the ceiling for a moment. Sorry. Please delete that unwarranted comment from the record. He coughed, quietly, and then continued, In my opinion, once combat units of the Fellowship abandoned dogma and accepted the possibility of a universe that wasn’t exclusively human, they would fight effectively. They might even prevail.

Thank you, Colonel. That will be all.

Excuse me, sir, Secerak said. But about the problem of the little brothers—

It is being addressed, Colonel—both on an immediate and long-term basis. Once again, you are dismissed.

Long term? Secerak asked as he stood to take his leave. I’m not sure I understand.

Some believe they’re ready for another step along their evolutionary path.

For a moment Secerak didn’t understand. Then, he said, You’re talking about making them more intelligent.

You are dismissed, Colonel. Now, good day.

Chapter 1

Haven System, 4 Nov 2454.

<<Captain, please return to the control room immediately>>

What’s the problem? Naomi Bricklin asked as she hurried through the short corridor.

<<Objects in our path, approaching from starboard. Too many to avoid>>

She felt the cold touch of fear in the pit of her stomach. Lateral thrusters full left! Execute!

Erikson slewed hard to port as Naomi scrambled into the command couch. The sudden change from the quarter-g at which the ship had been decelerating in preparation to enter orbit to hard lateral acceleration made her job more difficult.

<<Objects are turning to intercept us. We cannot avoid them>> Ship said.

How long before impact?

<<Fifteen seconds… Fourteen…>>

Continue full acceleration left. Rig for collision.

<<Executing>> Ship displayed a schematic of the living section, and as each airtight hatch slammed shut, its symbol changed from red to green.

Why didn't you detect them earlier? Naomi accused as the last fastener on the restraint web clicked shut and the Gs piled on.

<<The objects have artificially reduced radar signatures>>

But why? No one has ever attacked a MacCollie vessel! As she uttered the statement, a scattering of ball-bearing-sized objects met Erikson at a combined velocity of more than thirty-five kilometers per second.

Naomi was thrown about, even within the restraint web, and then plunged into darkness, as all systems were knocked off-line by the explosive impacts of the kinetic weapons. Her ears rang from the concussions, blood sprayed from her nose. Worse, she had no way of knowing how serious the damage was, other than the terrifying noises from outside the control room as explosions spread from one area to another.

And if the master computer she knew as Ship was damaged or destroyed there would be no servos to patch the holes, even if they were repairable. As the emergency lights clicked on—providing an inferior twilight in the control room—she waited for further impacts. When none came, she quelled her fears and tried to take stock of the situation.

What if I have to abandon ship? She dismissed the thought, and noticed her nose was still bleeding, the blood dancing in front of her face in little ruddy balls—which meant that the engines had shut down and she was in zero-g. Ship, are you with me?

<<Partially. Several of my processing nodes are not responding>>

Why the shutdown? What’s the status of the main power plant?

<<Unknown. At this time I am receiving no input from that area>>

Release the restraint web. She floated free from her acceleration couch. How bad is it?

<<Sensors report massive damage all areas. Structural integrity of the living area is severely compromised>> There was a pause. <<The power plant has been severed from access shaft. Recommend you commence abandonment procedures>>

That was not an option she cared to exercise. Being shot at was bad enough. Being hit was worse. And having to abandon ship in what now appeared to be a hostile system… I’m not ready to abandon my command. Not if there’s any hope that—

<<There is none, Captain. The power plant section is no longer attached to the main structure of the ship. I have battery backup sufficient for only one hour before complete systems failure>>

Naomi tried to pull herself together. There were procedures that had to be followed. In that case, dispatch a message needle—no, two message needles—informing MacCollie headquarters of our situation. Also, set out distress beacons in standard pattern.

<<Executing>> After a short pause, Ship said, <<Message needles have been dispatched. I am, however, unable to deploy distress beacons. Sensors report severe damage to that section>>

Understood.

The whole ship must be ripped apart! It was her worst nightmare. She would have to leave Erikson, the one thing that had meant something to her, and now it was torn to pieces. But what about— Ship, is the lifeboat undamaged?

<<It is… serviceable. You are advised to go to it as quickly as possible>>

What about the passageways between here and the lifeboat?

<<Passageway two is blocked. You will be able to detour around it through Exobiology and passageway four. Passageway six is open to vacuum. No detour is available>>

Understood.

It made no sense. No one harmed MacCollie ships because MacCollie Industries had no enemies. And being ambushed is so unexpected that...

She decided to worry about it later. Instead, she pushed across the confined space of the control room to the suit locker, opened it and pulled out her skintite, baggy, helmet, and Portable Life Support System. She checked consumables—the PLSS was fine, all read-outs in the green.

Stripping to the skin, she broke open a packet of friction-free and dusted her entire body with the slippery stuff. Then she pulled on the skintite, working out the wrinkles so there would be no place for her skin to swell and bruise during her exposure to vacuum. She cursed the suit as she struggled with it. In the Academy she’d grown used to the clamshell suits that a person could get into in less than fifteen seconds.

But that was Fleet, and MacCollie ships are never supposed to have emergencies… certainly not this kind of emergency.

The heavy chafe-resistant layers of the baggy made it stiff and difficult to handle and she worked up a sweat as she pulled it on like one-piece pajamas. Finally, she attached the helmet to the neck ring on her skintite, slipped into the straps of the PLSS, and attached the hoses and wires to the proper fittings. After ensuring that everything was working, she grabbed the clothes she’d been wearing and stuffed them into the voluminous pockets of the baggy. Then, prepared to face whatever was out there, or as much as she was ever going to be, she said, Ready to proceed to the lifeboat. Open the control room door.

<<Unable to comply >>

She pulled herself across to the door and tried the handle. It was frozen. What’s jamming this handle? Her voice was half an octave above its normal pitch.

<<Unknown. Structural integrity of the ship is approaching minimums and the doorframe may be warped. You are advised to work as quickly as possible>>

I’m hurrying, but this damned door is stuck!

She braced herself against the bulkhead and pulled at the handle until her shoulders felt as if they were exploding. Finally, with an angry creak, it moved. She swung the door open and pulled herself along the passageways with almost reckless abandon.

<<You are advised to exercise caution>> Ship warned as she entered the corridor. <<The passageways are insufficiently illuminated. There is floating debris in many of them>>

She slowed her pace. It would be easy to panic, and if she ripped her suit, she’d have to go back and try to find one that fit.

Unless I ripped it in vacuum... She stopped at the doorway into corridor six. I’m going to need some help here. I can’t get into six because I can’t open the door against the pressure, and there’s no way to dump it.

<<Working on that>>

After a few moments, two spidery servomechs entered the corridor behind her. The first one anchored itself just inside the pressure door at the far end and slowly closed the door with its mechanical arms. The second slid along the wall track, stopping at the pressure door leading into corridor six.

<< Please anchor yourself to the bulkhead>>

She dug through one of the other pockets of the baggy and found a package of sticky strips. Ripping open the foil package, she anchored herself with three strips, two of them crossing her chest and the third across her pelvis. As soon as she reported herself secure, the second servomech placed a small packet of explosive against the doorframe and detonated it. The air in the passageway whooshed out with hurricane force, and even with the three attachments, Naomi was buffeted against the bulkhead until her nose started bleeding again. Within moments, the inside of her visor was spattered with tiny droplets of blood, and there was no way to clean it as long as she remained in vacuum.

<<Passageway six is now open. You are advised to proceed as quickly as you can>>

Working her way through the passageway, she tried to make sense of what she saw. But the damage was so extensive she wasn't even quite sure where she was. Six was supposed to run through Exobiology, with its automated labs visible behind large windows on either side of the corridor. What she saw instead were gaping holes, and behind them, torn and twisted metal and plastic that once must have been lab robots, cabinets, storage bins…

There was one last pressure door, and she had to force it open before emerging into the lifeboat bay. Once there, she barely comprehended that she was seeing stars through a hole in the hull—a hole big enough to throw her whole cabin through!

She looked at the lifeboat. From a distance the gray and white delta-winged machine looked undamaged, but as she came near its twenty-five-meter length, she saw dents and gouges in the heat shield. Working her way across the open bay, using any handhold within her reach, she pulled herself inside the lifeboat, closed the hatch, and entered its cockpit. She ripped off the bloodied visor and scanned the status board. The on-board computers had anticipated her needs. All undamaged systems were up and ready.

Immediate launch, she ordered. A moment later, servos moved the lifeboat toward the launch rail. Naomi heard grating sounds transmitted through metal-to-metal contact, and then louder noises as broken and melted panels were forced out of the launch path. Finally, she felt a lurch as the launch rail tossed the lifeboat away and a punch in the back as its thrusters moved it into a trajectory that she hoped would take her through the debris field of Erikson without a collision.

Once clear of the debris, she ordered a view aft. The screen showed the ship as two separate pieces of wreckage moving away from each other. She saw the power plant turning slowly with leftover momentum, propellant gasses streaming from dozens of rents in its tanks, while its skin still glowed with the heat of the collisions. The living area looked no better. Dozens of panels had been blown away, exposing the deepest parts of the module to vacuum. She had escaped death by pure luck, and for that, she gave silent thanks.

"Lifeboat, what percent of the memories of Erikson do you now possess?"

<<<We are essentially the same entity>>>

Then you were in full contact until the moment of launch.

<<<We are still in contact, Captain. And will be so long as contact can be maintained>>>

Use its remaining sensors to watch for another volley headed our way. And get us away from here—as far as you can. As she spoke, she realized she’d issued an ambiguous order. Before the lifeboat could ask for clarification, she said, Set course for the planet below.

<<<Acknowledged. Course corrections will commence in ten seconds>>>

How long before we're dirtside?

<<<Approximately twenty-seven days, fifteen hours>>>

That shocked her. Why so long?

<<<I cannot decelerate as rapidly as could Erikson>>>

Almost a month. More than enough time for someone to take another shot at her—or several shots, if they were so inclined. Maybe Ship could still give her warning if they did.

Then she thought of another problem. What about life-support for a period that long?

<<<I possess marginal capacity in that area. It would be better if you were to hibernate for most of that time>>>

And if they decide to take another shot at us?

<<<You are aboard an unarmed lifeboat, Captain. What help could you offer in such an event>>>

I could— She knew she could do absolutely nothing—except worry. But to surrender control—no, before hibernation she’d take an inventory, make a plan for survival on the planet, think of some way she might get home, mourn the loss of her ship—but not yet. She wouldn’t mourn until she found out who, and why, and if there was any possibility, no matter how remote, she would make the ones responsible pay for what they’d done.

Chapter 2

Haven, 4 Nov 2454.

Nung Son Khanh paused outside the Chief Councilor's door. A husky, dark-complexioned man of average height, his immaculate uniform was specially tailored to hide the slight thickening of his waist that had come with success and advancement. Having achieved the rank of colonel at forty-one, he was proud of his achievements but dismayed by the fact that his responsibilities left too little time for exercise.

He was also dismayed at the prospect of entering the Chief Councilor's office. A personage of immense power, Anna Chen wielded that power with intelligence and precision. If she had a weakness, it was in the fact that it wasn’t a particularly good idea to be in her immediate presence when she received bad news. And the dispatch Nung Son had for her was the worst he could imagine. He took a deep breath and identified himself to the security system. Immediately, the door swung open. He entered the dimly lighted room, making sure he was the only visitor.

Madam, I have information of a very important nature for you.

Wrinkled and withered with hair the color of falling snow, Anna Chen sat behind the only symbol of power she chose to display, an enormous wooden desk absent of any distracting element. Over her clothing she wore a simple black robe adorned only with the insignia of her office, a silver crescent within a gold circle. She pointed to a straight-backed chair directly in front of her desk. Khanh sat, using only the forward edge of the cushion. Although no longer standing, he was still at attention.

Tell me, Nung Son. What is this important news?

A starship has entered our system, Madam. It was moving toward our world.

Her eyebrows rose a fraction of a centimeter. Was? And what kind of starship was it?

We believe it was a MacCollie scout ship.

‘Show me."

At Khanh's subvocalized command, the room’s computer projected a holo into the space just to the left of Chen’s desk. Leaving her chair, she moved closer and studied the image floating there. What happened to it?

We don’t know. The most plausible theory is that the old ship fired on it.

She looked back at him. That hulk should have been vaporized decades ago. And what are the other theories?

Perhaps a collision with space debris, or internal explosions of unknown cause.

And the likelihood of those theories being correct?

Very low. The ship appeared to have been taking evasive action when it was hit. This looks to have been the result of hostile action.

She put her hands behind her back and looked up at the domed ceiling. I see. And are you sure that it was a MacCollie scout ship?

"Yes, Madam, and we’re almost certain it was Erikson. According to records, it was put into service more than one hundred years ago, and—"

"I find it interesting that a ship so old would still be in use.’

"Of course, we're only