Kosho remained silent, but he could see she didn't agree.
He settled back in his chair with a sigh. "Which is not to say I haven't seen anything but bulkheads and v-displays and the same faces for too long. You think my judgment has been impaired by a too-long patrol cruise? That I'm suffering psychological effects from extended isolation in the big dark?"
That I would…mislay orders to keep my crew and ship together for just a few more months?
Kosho did not reply, but her already straight spine became even straighter.
"I see." Hadeishi looked away for a bit and thumbed his medband. Clearhead hissed into his bloodstream with a cool, tingling sensation. "I am a little tired, Sho-sa, but this grandiose suite of rooms and the ever-comfortable chair on the bridge come with unavoidable responsibilities. Our duty station here is set for seven weeks. If we rotate the crew down for three-day leaves, I will be groundside, and enjoying myself, within a week." He grimaced, feeling the medband inject a second dose automatically. "I will be very glad to do so."
"Hai, kyo." Susan politely turned her attention back to the reports in front of her. "Have you seen this request from Isoroku to replace the decking in the officer's ward-room and surrounding areas?"
"I have." Hadeishi tapped up the same report on his pad, accepting the change of subject with relief. "Those rooms haven't been the same since that fire. Who would have thought a Khaid penetrator would decide the galley was a critical system? What do you think about his use of 'alternative materials'?"
"I'm not sure Fleet would approve the modification." The stiffness in the lieutenant commander's demeanor relaxed a little. "But with metal so scarce here, it is innovative. Wooden floors, cabinetry and paneling would be a nice change from the usual Fleet grey. These samples he's provided look gorgeous."
"They do." Hadeishi considered the same set of holos. "What about fire danger? And slippage. Will nonskid stick to this material?"
Kosho plucked a stylus from out of the heavy bun of black hair behind her head. She tapped the wall v-display awake and scrolled through the system to bring up the Engineers' request. "Isoroku sent one of his department supervisors groundside to look for replacement materials – Helsdon found the locals have developed organic replacements for a wide variety of metals. These trees – well, they're not really trees the way we think of them – are designed to lay down an internal structure like a honeycomb and secrete a crystalline lattice into the interstitial membranes." An appropriate diagram appeared.
"According to Fo-san from the Imperial Development Board, the timber from this species of lohaja is fireproof and has a tensile strength approaching light steel. On pad, at least, it matches or exceeds the specifications required by safety regulations." She looked at Hadeishi and shrugged, the very tiniest lift detectable at the corners of her lips. "And it has a beautiful color."
"Better than sanity-green on enameled metal," the Chu-sa said, nodding. He scribbled on the bottom of his pad. "Let him give it a try. If it works, and we can acquire enough of the material, we can use it to repair or refurbish internal non-bulkhead walls, furniture and cabinetry. What about the rest of the repair schedule?"
Susan sighed. Two years out in the dark had left nearly every shipboard system seriously degraded. The endurance of an Astronomer-class light cruiser on patrol was supposed to be nine months. Some systems had simply failed at a year plus, when parts wore out. Others had been destroyed or severely damaged in combat. It was unlikely they would be able to pass a shipworthiness review. "We're stuck on over half of these items without a dry-dock to set into. Including the number one priority for everyone below decks…"
"The aft heat exchangers?" Hadeishi rubbed his nose. "Could we run atmosphere with only the fore environment plant?"
Kosho shook her head. "Only if we send all but repair crews off-ship. Efficiency of the whole system is down almost forty percent…we need to pull both and replace them with brand new units, if possible."
"Can the Jaganite industrial base fabricate replacements?"
"Helsdon has been looking for compatible systems…but has found nothing. The natives don't have the right kind of machining and composite construction technology. Isoroku had been hoping a civilian spaceliner would be in-system with a spare, compatible environ-plant we could commandeer. This was not the case."
Hadeishi smoothed his beard, looking at his chrono. "Then we'll have to wait until we reach Toroson. And the rest of these leave schedules and maintenance priorities will have to wait. I've a conference cast about to start with Tlacateccatl Yacatolli of the 416th about our reaction and support plan."
Kosho did not laugh, but she made a funny coughing sound. Hadeishi glared at her, suppressing his own smile of amusement. "Now you have to sit here with me and listen to the Army and be polite."
The Sho-sa nodded, resigned to her fate, and began sorting all of the report pads on the table into neat piles.
"I understand your combat lift requirements, Tlacateccatl," Hadeishi repeated. "But the Cornuelle is not an assault carrier. We carry three Varanus-class cargo shuttles and a captain's launch. Those shuttles could be stripped out, I suppose, but they'd still only carry a platoon each of troops in full combat armor. I don't have anything capable of evacuating one of your armored tracks from a combat situation."
Yacatolli's face twisted into a truly fearsome grimace, the tattoos incised on both cheeks bunching into vaguely demonic shapes. He was getting angrier with each tick of the chrono. "What good is your ship to me then? You've no lift support for my men, you say your missile inventory is exhausted, you've only two squads of Marines…why are you here and not a proper support craft?"
"You will have to discuss that with Admiral Villeneuve," Hadeishi snapped, voice rising involuntarily. His headache was getting worse. The Mixtec officer's eyes narrowed to slits. Hadeishi's face closed up tight, lips thinning to a harsh line. "My apologies, Colonel. My request to transit to Toroson for repair and resupply was rejected by the Admiral's operations officer. Instead we were put on picket here until the battle group returns. More than this, I cannot say. Those are my orders."
"What support can you give me, then?" Yacatolli's tone verged on open anger. Hadeishi understood his position all too well – the Army was used to operating under an umbrella of rapid-response Fleet fire-support, used to being able to call on heavy-lift shuttles to redeploy their ground combat vehicles and troops, expecting supplies to be delivered in any kind of terrain – and now none of those resources were available. "Anything?"
"Full communications net," Hadeishi answered, knowing how paltry his offering sounded. "For remote detachments. Surveillance overwatch. We can swamp all local comm from here. Override or seize any satellite support the native princes might have in operation. Medevac for your wounded. In dire circumstances I have three bombardment missiles still in inventory, but I was saving those in case we get jumped by a raider." And we can't run fast enough to avoid battle.
"I see." The colonel let his fury at the universe, Hadeishi and Admiral Villeneuve leak through into his voice. "Very well, we will adapt our reaction plan accordingly. If we have need of your assistance, Chu-sa, I expect immediate compliance. My operations officer will forward a copy of your rules of engagement and expected support duties tomorrow, after we've worked them up."
"Colonel!" Hadeishi leaned towards the v-display, stung by the man's words. "I expect my executive officer, Sho-sa Kosho, to be fully engaged in your operational planning at every step!"
"Do you?" Yacatolli scowled, lip curling. "Given the disparate levels of resources we each can apply, I think the Army will lead the planning, as we'll be doing all the work. Don't worry, we won't overburden your ship's capabilities."
"Overburden?" The temperature of Hadeishi's tone dropped remarkably. "How would you even know what our capabilities are if we're not fully engaged in working up the ops plan?"
"You've given me an excellent idea of your capabilities," Yacatolli snarled, holding up his thumb
and forefinger circled into an O. "Do I need to remind you I am the ranking Imperial officer in this system? This is an Army operation, and Fleet will follow orders."
Out of the immediate range of the channel pickup, Kosho's eyes widened and she shot a pleading look at Hadeishi, pressing her palms towards the floor. The Chu-sa unclenched his fists – also out of view – and tried to breathe deeply. Yacatolli stared back at him, waiting.
Finally, Hadeishi nodded in agreement, though there was a sour taste in his mouth. Army running Fleet? At this moment, even the Buddha is dumbfounded!
"Expect a 'cast transfer of new orders tomorrow. Yacatolli, out."
The v-display went black, then reset to standby. Hadeishi sat stiffly, staring at the pale blue colors, the corner of his left eye twitching. He did not look at Kosho. After a little while, she stood up, bowed and went out quietly.
When she was gone he slumped, almost shuddering into his chair. Now, what will you do if something happens? A sharp, angry voice echoed in his thoughts. You've worn your poor ship to the bone – how could this be an improvement on sending her to the breaking yard?
Hadeishi had no answer for his conscience. He rubbed his brow line with the back of his thumb, trying to drive away the piercing headache.
With the aft air exchangers running at less than half strength, the enlisted mess on deck sixteen of the Cornuelle was oven hot, stifling and filled with an oily smell from the recyclers. Marine gunso Fitzsimmons slouched into the mess in a pair of ratty exercise shorts and a sour mood. Due to the constant heat and humidity, off-duty personnel had taken to wearing as little as possible.
This made the sight of Heicho Felix and some of her cronies draped in flamboyantly colored fabric from head to toe unexpected. Fitzsimmons altered course, veering away from the rows of drink dispensers, and parked himself on the end of a nearby table.
Felix and the other female Marines ignored Fitzsimmons, their attention on a stack of iridescent cloth wrapped around wooden dowels, boxes of shining trinkets, fluted leather bottles with wax stoppers, stacked sets of bowls and cups in a pale, shimmering green glaze, plump bags of ground spices, a basket of some spiky native fruit, and boxes covered with garish labels and boldly unintelligible lettering. A rich smell of ginger and cinnamon suffused the air around them. After a moment of watching the women, Fitzsimmons realized they were dividing up the goods.
"Hey Felix, where'd you get all this stuff?"
The Heicho looked up, made a face to see the fish-belly-pale shape of the Marine sergeant in nothing but tatty shorts, and then grinned mischievously. "Gunso! How are you today? Well, I hope." She cocked her head to one side, considering him. "Have you been working out?"
Fitzsimmons scowled, scratching his taut stomach. Every Marine on-ship worked out constantly. There was little else for them to do, since both combat simulators were broken and when there was an opportunity to exercise their skills, it usually meant the captain needed them to storm some refugee ship seized by raiders, after floating with their combat suits dialed down to minimum power to escape detection as they spiraled through a long ballistic orbit to match velo with the captured ship, while the Cornuelle traded missiles and beamfire with the Megair spider-cloud as a distraction. The sergeant pointed at one of the leather bottles. "Is that booze?"
"If it is," Felix said in a brisk tone, stepping in front of the rack of bottles, "it's not yours."
"You've been planetside," Fitzsimmons said, considering the piles of loot and scratching a jaw covered with stiff black stubble. "Lot of free time if you were supposed to be standing security. Your detail commander know about all this?"
The other Marines shared a brief, worried glance. Felix, however, gave the sergeant a commiserating smile. "Of course. Sho-sa Kosho likes me. Oh, did I mention I happened to run into an old friend of yours groundside? That blonde girl you spent so much time with…what was her name…"
"What are you talking about?" Fitzsimmons glared at the corporal. "There's only one blonde I've even seen in the last two years that wasn't wearing a uniform, and she's -"
"Miss Anderssen! That's right." Felix's dark eyes glinted in amusement. "She was looking very fetching the other night, when the lieutenant commander was out on the town. Nice dress. Very stylish. Would you like to see a picture?"
"Smoke and ash," Fitzsimmons barked, standing up. His stomach made an odd, queasy flip-flop. "Gretchen's about sixty lights from here, at home, working on some…some important scientific discovery…or something."
"I don't think she's working," the Heicho said, rummaging under the gleaming silk. "Ah, here we are." She pulled out a holo and examined the image – hidden from Fitzsimmons' line of sight – with a critical air. The other Marines leaned in, smirking. "Yes, she is an attractive woman in a very flattering outfit. Don't you think so, girls?"
"Oh yes," they all said, batting their eyelashes.
Fitzsimmons made a strangled sound, closed his eyes, took three deep breaths and opened them again, glaring at Felix and the holo in her hand. "Fine, Corporal, keep your bones. Can I see the holo?"
"Hmmm…" Felix hid the picture against her shoulder, making a show of considering the matter. "Well…you are a pretty solid squad leader, and you saved my life one time on Kotopaxi, so I guess you could have this…" She handed him the holo. "Our surveillance cameras are really very sharp, even at night and in the rain."
Fitzsimmons stared intently at the picture. A pretty blonde woman with long wavy hair was standing in the shadow of an ivy-covered gate, talking to the slim, straight figure of Sho-sa Kosho. He tried not to sigh, watching the European woman smile, face lighting up, one hand brushing thick hair back over a bared shoulder. The fidelity of the holo was very good – you could see raindrops falling past. Then he noticed targeting and range indicators softly glowing at the edges of the holo.
"Mother of Tepeyac, Felix, you were surveilling the Sho-sa with your gun-scope?!"
The Heicho shrugged. "You want the picture or not, sergeant? Sure would brighten up your rack."
Fitzsimmons shook his head and handed the holo back, drawing a surprised look from Felix. "Thanks, Corporal, but no. Some of us are borne by water, carried by wind. Not her, though. Not her." She has a family, children – a whole world waiting for her at home.
"That's pretty poetic for a…" Fe lix started to say, then fell silent at the pinched, distant look on Fitzsimmons' face.
Without another word, the gunso slouched off towards the drink dispensers. In the picture, visible for just a moment as Anderssen moved her hand, there had been a flash of gold on her ring finger. Fitzsimmons couldn't remember her wearing a binding band before. But she was working when I was with her. Not at a party. Don't want anything on your hands if you're dinking around with heavy machinery. Though he'd sent her several letters, she'd never replied.
Surrounded by the bright colors of native loot, Felix watched the sergeant with a worried look. She glanced down at the holo in her hand, then pinched the bottom-left corner to flush the paper clean. She wondered if she should apologize, then set the thought aside. No sense in stirring up old regrets. The gunso would survive. They all did.
The Imperial Legation The Red Fort, Central Parus
Head throbbing, prince Tezozуmoc stumbled into a door-frame, bruising his shoulder. His eyes were having trouble focusing, but he seemed to be in some kind of domicile, a bedroom, a sitting room…Glorious savior, where am I? Is this someone's house? The prince tried to kick sheets tangling his feet away – part of his mind recognized they were of exceptional quality – but he wound up on the floor, staring up at a white ceiling. Gripped by nervous fear, Tezozуmoc's addled brain started to babble: I hope her husband does not come in right now. Whoever she happens to be – oh, Christ the Risen Sacrifice, I hope she was pretty! Or at least from a good family – that would please my divine father – getting some foreign princess heavy with jade and gold – then what would I do? What can I do? Should I run away? If…if I could stand up…
"No!" The thought of food made Tezozуmoc's stomach roll over queasily. "Something to drink – my mouth is terribly dry. A beer? A cold Rabbit? Or peyotl if they have some – aaah! – even octli liquor will do…"
Face impassive, Sergeant Dawd knelt beside the prince and took his wrist in gentle fingers. The Skawtsman considered the lights on the prince's medband carefully, and then stood with an easy motion, dragging Tezozуmoc to his feet. The abrupt change in position sent blood draining from the prince's head and he nearly fell over again.
"Ahhh…what did I do? Was there a party?" Tezozуmoc let himself be led to a chair in the sitting room. He stared around owlishly, throbbing head, parched mouth and general ill-feeling beginning to inspire a very poor humor. The prince tapped his medband peevishly. "This cheap trinket isn't working properly, is it? I feel…I feel wretched! Wrung out, stamped, dried, put away with the short kernels! Oh, my head…"
"Mi'lord," Dawd opened a refrigerated cabinet hidden in one of the walls. "Your medband shut down days ago. The level of drug toxicity in your system exceeded the band's safety limits. So you've been sleeping… Here, drink some ofthis."
Tezozуmoc took the glass with a horrified expression on his face. "This looks like bile."
"Drink up, mi'lord. Enzymes to help your liver process the alcohol and drugs and other toxic chemicals polluting your system."
"I am not drinking bile!"
Dawd's eyes grew rather cold and he leaned close to the prince. Surprised, Tezozуmoc quailed back into the overstuffed chair.
"Mi'lord, it's my business to keep you alive and healthy. By whatever means please your honored father. So – drink this and let the fluids do their work."
House of Reeds ittotss-2 Page 12