Beginnings-eARC

by David Weber

  Claire pushed the confusion aside for now, focusing on the next potential attacker in line. There would be time in private later to try to figure out Rustin's motivations and decide whether or not her apparent friend was actually capable of sealing her own shoes.

  Lieutenant Loyd was up next. The crease between his eyebrows seemed to imply that he hadn't missed the wardroom undercurrent of speculation on sordidness in Claire's family past. His slight smile could either be anticipation of skewering her with his question or an attempt to put her at ease.

  Claire tensed. If it was the second, he needn't have bothered. Claire no longer believed that it was possible to be at ease in a public setting.

  Lieutenant Loyd made a joke about killing the Ephraim's tactics officer twice in the next fleet exercise in retaliation for failing in Claire's tactics training, which got their corner of the room chuckling again. It seemed that the Manasseh wardroom was proud of Lieutenant Loyd's prowess in the tactical simulations, and they didn't seem to think he was boasting beyond his ability to deliver.

  The last questioner turned back and suggested that the group horse up Claire so that she could be the one to represent the Manasseh and take down the Ephraim.

  That suggestion was greeted with howls of approval.

  Claire flinched at little at the implication that her old ship was so far behind Manasseh that they thought they could send a just-passed ensign up against lieutenants and lieutenant commanders in the sims and fully expect to win. What did they do, live in the tactics simulators on this ship? Commander Greentree was a Protector's Own officer, sure, and those were known to be hard over on training time, but could it really make that much difference? Claire was pretty sure that Captain Ayres had made certain the lieutenants and lieutenant commanders did the fleet requirement of four hours in the simulators each week.

  Lieutenant Loyd finished up his impromptu monologue on how Claire was going to shine as a tactician with a claim that she'd be the best ensign to come out of Owens Steading since Abigail Hearns.

  Commander Greentree lost his recruiter vid star grin to a careful blankness. The master chief had reported back apparently.

  Claire realized that she'd have to share another bombshell. “Actually, I come from Burdette Steading, Sir.”

  Several of the listening officers repeated the steading name for the ones in the back, and this time the entire wardroom stared at her, shocked.

  The exec broke the silence from all the way across the room this time. “Wait a minute, here, Ensign Lecroix. That was entirely left that out of the officer's biography sent over from the Ephraim. You gotta tell us how you got a Saganami Island nomination out of Steadholder Burdette.”

  Claire swallowed, carefully marshalling her thoughts to try to explain without saying anything that would be horribly misinterpreted, either here in this company or back on Burdette Steading. The less said the better, but this group didn't seem interested in letting this one go without a full explanation. First, brush over the dueling death of Lord William Fitzclarence. No, be honest at least in your thoughts, she reminded herself. It must have been at least an attempted murder of Admiral Alexander-Harrington. She could see in the groups eyes' that they were all thinking about how the last Steadholder Burdette had done his best to kill Admiral Harrington, the first and most impressive woman to wear a uniform in defense of Grayson.

  “Um.” Great, Claire, she told herself, brilliant start. “Lord Burdette was good enough to nominate me for a position, Sir.”

  She paused as some of the officers murmured to each other that this was Nathan Fitzclarence, the cousin who had inherited the steadholder position after William's duel.

  Lieutenant Loyd watched Claire with his lips parted as if he were trying to find a way to ask more without taking her into another orbital minefield. She wished he'd just stop and let the subject change.

  “What was he thinking?” The lieutenant finally asked, and Claire tried to shrink into the wall.

  “Steadholder Owens sent Abigail Hearns the year before,” she said. “The Protector seemed to approve . . .” Claire did blush now, and fiercely. “I really don't understand all the politics, Sir, but Lord Burdette was only interested in nominating girls that year. Our elder said, ah, not very nice things, but Lord Burdette said that we were to try, and when it got too much for our, um, sensibilities he'd see what he could do to help us marry properly. But that he had to show Cr—”

  The CO coughed, loudly, and Claire realized she had almost said Crazy Benjie, the barroom nickname for the protector common under the old Steadholder Burdette.

  “Ah, he said he had to show Protector Benjamin that Grayson women weren't meant to be like Steadholder Harrington.”

  A baffled silence followed, and even Rustin seemed completely speechless.

  Lieutenant Loyd spoke first with: “I'm totally lost. You were sent to Saganami Island with directions to quit. So what happened?”

  Claire just glared at him entirely forgetting the last five years of carefully developed military courtesies. “It's a good job.”

  Loyd's jaw dropped again but in a wide open-mouthed smile. He turned to the Commander Greentree and the exec. He called across the room, as if everyone hadn't already heard Claire's response, “It's a good job, Captain.”

  Claire contained her glare, barely, by keeping it focused on her amused lieutenant instead of her CO.

  “A steader can't just quit a good job.” Her intended soft reply rasped with anger, carrying clearly back across the room, and she strangled the volume back to a whisper in an attempt to control the thoughts spilling out. “I got people to keep fed, you-” She managed to not use the disparaging term for scions of steadholder families that came to mind.

  Claire pleaded with her lieutenant, “Sir, I can't go dropping a good job just 'cause someone thinks it should be too hard.”

  Her bottled rage simmered as she thought: Hard? What did a steadholder's family know about hard jobs anyway?

  Lieutenant Loyd just stood in front of her shaking with laughter interpreting her fury as just slightly off-color humor.

  The next man had to take several minutes to finish guffawing before asking his question. Now all the questions were about Burdette. None of them noticed that she didn't find her situation funny. It didn't seem to matter what she said. They all thought it was a phenomenal joke.

  Most of them now said things on the theme of “Can't keep a good steader down.” Slowly Claire realized that most of the other officers thought that they were steaders themselves and identified with her for all that they had family influence that far exceeded anything a Bedlam might expect to gather. That family influence, from Claire's perspective came from connections to steadholders, but if they all wanted to spontaneously adopt her, who was she to argue? Claire filed this all away to try to figure out later if they were all somehow mocking her in a way she just didn't understand yet.

  Lieutenant Loyd planted himself next to her in the receiving line as the rest of the officers came around with their congratulations and questions. When she glanced at him from the corner of her eye, he only smiled again and announced that he needed to be the first to hear whatever other stories his new ensign had to tell, since he absolutely refused to hear them second hand from another department head.

  The lieutenant also shot down questions with quick regularity if they prompted Claire to wedge herself too far back against the wardroom bulkhead. She watched for warning signs in his unasked for protection, but he didn't touch or crowd or emit any of the subtle markers of a man intending to control her. If anything, he was policing the rest of the wardroom, and Claire tried to force herself to calm down and regain a measure of composure.

  The last of the officers wound through the line with the Mantie bringing up the rear. He approached with a slightly odd gait like he was trying to imitate a vid actor. He had a nice smile and hadn't seemed to follow the laughter that had infected the rest of the wardroom. He introduced himself as Lieutenant Commander Kev
in Lockhart, but, “Call me Kevin,” and told Claire to meet him later if she wanted some watch signatures.

  Rustin watched him leave with pursed lips.

  * * *

  Claire pinned another invitation from the Ephraim's Wives' Club on her blotter, half listening and half ignoring Rustin as she chattered on about the latest thing to happen with her division. Her roommate had been even happier than usual, nearly bouncing off the walls for the last couple days since her division had gotten near perfect marks on the laser shooting qualification. Commander Greentree was pleased and in a good mood about it, which naturally transferred down to the entire wardroom and crew complement. The CO was pretty good about keeping his bad days from overly affecting his ship, but a commander's actions and inactions decided so much about daily life of a ship that there was no way for his personality not to affect them. Claire had considered using this time to try to float a leave request chit to take two weeks off to attend a merchant life-support systems advanced technician's qualification cram session and certification exam. Actually, she had more than considered it; she had tried. The exec hadn't routed the chit, as far as she could tell, so she'd actually printed the thing and taken the papers herself to the CO during his office hours. He'd refused it. Request denied.

  Claire stared at her screen trying not to cry . . . and failing. This was like the Ephraim all over again, except that there she actually expected it, so she hadn't relaxed and gotten gut punched like this. Rustin was composing a letter to her little sister again, so it wasn't like she would actually notice that Claire wasn't paying attention or really responding. Claire kept her face averted and let the tears spill down her face.

  To have something to pretend to be doing, Claire checked her own messages. The console still wasn't set up with a bank account number to send anything, but she could get them. Aunt Jezzy was asking for some more money this month to buy a bassinet or something for the newest grandniece. Somehow Aunt Jezzy had kept from Noah that Claire had a raise with her promotion, but in return Aunt Jezzy wanted access to take the extra money from time to time. Noah had spent what Aunt Jezzy had budgeted for the new child on a hover bike, so the family needed a bit more from Claire this month.

  Aunt Jezzy advised Claire to see if it were true that Harrington Steading had a bank that allowed deposits in a woman's name alone. Denying Noah access to accounts to which he was the legal owner was fraud, of course, but it didn't feel like that since the accounts only existed at all because Claire was being paid for service in the GSN. Planet-wide Grayson law laid down by Protector Benjamin did allow female property ownership, but Burdette Steading law still made a woman's debts or property the responsibility of her protector. The not quite contradicting laws combined in ways Claire was pretty sure the Protector had never intended, and Noah jointly owned her accounts. Worse, her cousin had learned that he could debit the family bank accounts directly once he found them. Apparently Noah's latest surrogate father figure, a church deacon, had had something to do with teaching him that.

  Claire blew her nose. She wished she were on the Ephraim.

  Someone knocked on the door, and Rustin looked up, pausing her message to her sister.

  Claire looked at the door, forgetting that would show her face to Rustin. Claire scrubbed her eyes quickly and started to stand, but Rustin waved her off toward their stateroom sink and answered the door herself.

  She opened it only partway, though, blocking it with her body. Claire couldn't see past her, but she knew it was Lieutenant Loyd on the other side. She could clearly hear him talking to Rustin.

  Claire washed her face quickly, even though the sound of the water would give away to Loyd that she was hiding behind her roommate.

  Rustin tried to claim that Claire was unavailable without telling Lieutenant Loyd that Claire had been bawling.

  Lieutenant Loyd wasn't having any of it.

  He just overrode Rustin. Claire hadn't really expected her to be able to stop anyone, but it was sweet of her to try. That was Rustin, perpetually sweet, but not entirely effective. Claire was surprised he didn't simply force the door open or come in. Maybe he thought she was naked.

  Instead, Lieutenant Loyd just ordered through the door, “Claire, meet me in CIC in five.”

  Rustin tried one more time to talk him out of it somehow, but Claire swallowed and answered herself with an “Aye, Sir.” It sounded weepy, but she couldn't really help that.

  Lieutenant Loyd must have left, because Rustin slipped right back in, shut the door firmly, and then turned into a dervish of motion. She straightened Claire's uniform, brushed off lint, and finally slapped a little plastic tube of eye drops into Claire's hands. The crystal liquid miraculously cleared the redness in a moment. Without that to draw attention, the puffiness seemed hardly noticeable.

  Rustin gave Claire a quick hug and shoed her out the door to meet whatever new nastiness was about to enter her day. Senior officers never sought out ensigns in their staterooms for anything pleasant. Claire thought of her last watch qualification sign off with Lieutenant Commander Lockhart and shuddered.

  * * *

  Claire made her way down to CIC and belatedly realized that she'd forgotten her comp pad. Patting her front pocket, she found that Rustin had stuck it in there along with a stylus. The pointy bit of plastic to make notes on a computer screen had a designer brand name, making it one of Rustin's. Claire carefully fitted the stylus back in her pocket to keep from losing it, still walking fast. She slammed into Lieutenant Commander Lockhart just outside of CIC.

  The impact was cushioned by Lockhart swaying a step back with her as if he had been just standing there waiting for her to step into him. He leaned in as Claire tried to step back. Chuckling, Lockhart held Claire in a bear hug, reached around, and grabbed her bottom and pinched.

  Claire slammed her fist into his solar plexus.

  Lockhart stumbled back swearing at her and promised to clear all the tactics sign-offs he'd given her.

  Claire bit her lip and just backed away. If he decided to tell Commander Greentree, she wasn't sure what would happen, but it wouldn't be good.

  Lockhart let a smile creep back on to his face and told her to come to his stateroom when she was ready to apologize. Then he turned smartly and marched away down the passageway humming a ditty popular in strip clubs that made Claire's ears burn.

  Lieutenant Loyd stood inside the open hatch to CIC, white-lipped. Claire cringed, her stomach sinking as she wondered what he had decided to see. He blew out a long breath of air. “We need to go see the captain about that.”

  Claire felt nauseous. “I'm not going to do you either. No matter what you're going to tell the captain. I won't.”

  The lieutenant flushed with fury just as Claire had expected him to, but he didn't make any farther threats.

  Claire backed against the bulkhead nervously searching for a protective audience. Claire didn't think Lieutenant Loyd would get grabby. He hadn't done anything like that yet. She backed a few steps just to be sure and tripped over an ankle-height junction box.

  Lieutenant Loyd caught a flailing arm and pulled her upright, but then dropped her arm like it was arc welder-hot. He stepped away with his hands palm up.

  “Ensign, that is so fucked up that I don't know where to start. This was supposed to be a counseling session where I told you that if you wanted this ‘good job' you needed to start doing it instead of playing GSN dress up.” He narrowed his eyes. “Obviously, I have no idea what's going on with my own officers. So, we're going to fix that.”

  Claire crossed her arms and hugged herself, hunching her shoulders over. It hid her breasts a little, but not really enough. Claire tensed waiting to find out what her outburst was going to do to her this time.

  The lieutenant ducked back into CIC and with a quick word sent some petty officers scurrying down the passageway.

  Claire hovered half in and half out, wanting to be around more people but reluctant to leave him before learning what he intended to do
to her.

  Master Chief Wallens took the corner at a quick lope and then slowed to wander into CIC as if he just happening to be strolling by.

  Claire followed him in, and Lieutenant Loyd directed her to take a chair.

  The master chief sat down next to Claire with a bit of space between the chairs but angled towards Lieutenant Loyd and flipped out his own comp and appeared to completely absorb himself in some kind of paperwork.

  Lieutenant Loyd sat, scrubbed his forehead with his hands, and still rubbing his temples, started talking. “Okay Ensign Lecroix, the sum total of this counseling session was supposed to be you standing at attention while I yelled at you about not doing the tactics sim sessions that I told you to do. And that the captain told you to do back when you got your promotion. You were supposed to leave here chastised, having promised to stop lazing around, and go spend the next four hours blowing up ships. And then you were supposed to spend half your days for the next couple weeks blowing things up, too, and by that time you'd probably manage to make the ship that gets blown up be something besides your own ship at least some of the time. But that happened.” Lieutenant Loyd flipped a hand towards the passageway and flared his fingers. “Why didn't you just kick him in the balls?”

  The master chief's sudden stillness revealed he was listening after all.

  Claire bit her lip.

  “This is the part where you say something, Ensign.” Lieutenant Loyd chided quietly.

  Claire hunched farther in her chair. She was sure her expression was mulish, but she'd never been good at controlling it when she felt like she was being attacked. “No excuse, Sir.” She attempted the standard answer.

  Lieutenant Loyd's response of, “Fucking Academy,” was not what she expected. He resumed rubbing his temples and sighed.

  Claire glared at him and waited for him to try to drag another answer out of her. You couldn't win when something like this happened, but you could hold onto your pride and not lose.

  Lieutenant Loyd looked back, occasionally blinking or glancing around enough to keep it from being a staring contest, but he didn't break the silence.