The ice flashed into anger.  Ted had served on Ark Royal for forty-four years.  He was familiar with every last inch of her decks – and with every new component his skeleton crew had installed over the years.  Their surprise at the short time it would need to have the ship prepped for service was quite understandable ... but they didn't realise that he hadn't spent his time drunk out of his mind.  No, he'd been keeping the old girl as close to readiness as possible.  They hadn't even been paying attention to the supplies he’d requisitioned over the years!

“No,” he said, simply.

The First Space Lord lifted his eyebrows.  It was a breach of military formality to interrupt one’s superior, unless it was a matter of life and death.

Ted turned to face Captain Fitzwilliam, fighting to keep his voice even.  “Are you familiar with the modifications we have made to our Mark-IV normal space drive?  Are you aware of the problems in flying Buccaneer bombers off the flight decks?  Do you understand the outdated computer cores we have not been able to replace?  Do you realise that half our small craft component is actually outdated?  Do you understand the limitations of our onboard weapons systems?”

He looked back at the First Space Lord.  “I'm sure that Captain Fitzwilliam is a fine officer,” he said, knowing that he would either secure his career or destroy it.  “But he hasn't trained on anything remotely comparable to Ark Royal.  There is very little standard about her, sir; her internal systems are a mixture of modern technology and outdated technology that cannot be replaced without tearing up the hull.  Are you aware, for example, that we cannot mount a modern sensor node on the hull?  When switched to active mode, they will blind her inner systems.  We actually have to use sensor probes and outriders to expand our sensor range.”

“That’s absurd,” Captain Fitzwilliam protested.  “What sort of system would be designed to blind its carrier?”

“It isn't,” Ted assured him.  “A modern carrier wouldn't have a problem.  Ark Royal, however, was designed as a solid-state entity.  She was built to survive.  We cannot replace the older systems without tearing the hull wide open, which would take far longer than four weeks.  We'd be looking at nine months, at best.”

He smiled at the younger man.  “Still feel like you can take command of my ship?”

Captain Fitzwilliam’s face darkened, but he held his temper.  Ted was privately impressed.  He had no illusions about what navy scuttlebutt said about him; it was unlikely in the extreme that any young officer would look up to him as someone to be emulated.  It was rather more likely that they considered his career to be a nightmare.  Someone edging towards squadron or fleet command would be horrified at the idea of spending forty-four years on the same ship.  It wasn't the mark of a promising officer.