by David Drake
While Daniel grew up on Bantry, Speaker Leary had generally been in Xenos on political business. Corder Leary had neither time nor the inclination to be a father to a boy who shared none of his interests. Hogg had filled the place, raising Daniel in his own conception of duty. It'd served Daniel well as an RCN officer, and as a man.
The door opened inward with a gentle hoosh; a slim figure, probably female, stood half-concealed in the anteroom. "Please go on through, sir," she whispered.
The inner panel was ajar; light glowed around the open edge. As Daniel pulled it toward him, he heard the street door thump shut.
The ornate staircase to the upper floors was offset to the left. There was a light somewhere upstairs, casting a diffuse glow through the banisters, but none of the wall sconces in the frescoed entryway were lit.
More light wavered softly from the hallway to the right. Daniel walked toward it, his careful footsteps soundless on the thick carpet. He entered a room covered with age-darkened wooden panels. A shaded candle on the table cast the only illumination; the figure seated on the other side was clearly male.
"Don't bother posturing, boy," the figure said. "There's only the two of us here, and bluster isn't going to impress me. Sit down and listen."
Daniel stared at him. It'd been eight years since he last saw his father; he hadn't expected ever to see him again.
"Sir, you have nothing to say to me," Daniel said. He was dizzy with surprise. If he'd met a squad of gunmen he'd have known how to react, but this . . .
"And I have nothing to say to you!" Daniel said. He'd gone white; now his face flushed and he felt as though his skin was burning. His fists were clenched.
Daniel gripped the back of the chair before him, not to sit in but from a momentary urge to hurl it into the wall. He needed to act to burn off the adrenaline that had set his muscles trembling violently.
"I said, don't bluster!" Corder snapped. "I'm not here because I want to be, boy. This is family, and don't tell me you're not a Leary. I've watched you, and there's never a Bergen born who'd go into a fight the way you do. Now, sit down and listen."
Daniel opened his hands but left them resting on the chair back. He took a deep, shuddering breath. He didn't think it helped, but he managed to say without stammering, "There's other things than fighting, sir."
"Sure there are," Corder said. "And there's other people to do them, too, while we Learys do the things the others can't or won't. You've got a chestful of medals, I suppose; but the real reward is knowing there's places that Cinnabar traders can go now that they couldn't if it hadn't been for a Leary making it safe for them."
Which was true. Daniel hadn't thought anybody else, not even Adele, understood that.
Corder'd been hunching forward slightly; now he straightened in his chair. He was four inches taller than his son; his face was still craggy though his waist had expanded considerably since Daniel last saw him. The Speaker had joint problems, Daniel had heard; you do hear things, even if you're not trying to.
"And the fact that Cinnabar's a republic and not an Alliance protectorate like Porra tried to buy with the Three Circles Conspiracy," Corder continued in the same hard, certain voice. "That's a Leary's doing too, boy."
Daniel looked across the table, wondering if he should turn and walk out. The humor of a thought struck him; he barked a laugh.
"Eh?" said Corder; his tone a question, not a challenge.
"I'm not in the habit of running away from a fight, sir," Daniel said, grinning beneath the words. "Say what you have to say, and then I'll leave."
"Aye," Corder said grimly. "We'll both leave, and this meeting won't have happened."
He spread his big hands flat on the table; the knuckles seemed enlarged. He resumed in the same tone, "Oller Kearnes is my son. Was my son, before Slidell killed him. And Oller being my son is why Slidell killed him—revenge for his brother, you see."
Daniel let the words dance in his mind as he tried to fit them into a pattern that made sense. He wished Adele was here, for advice and especially for companionship. The idea was so ludicrous that it broke his mood.
"I don't see at all," Daniel said, with a lilt though not quite open laughter. "Who was Commander Slidell's brother?"
Corder grimaced. "Jan Slidell was my legislative aide," he said. "I thought I could get him into the Senate in a few years; he might've been useful. But instead he stuck a knife in my back for the Cullert faction."
Daniel opened his mouth, then closed it again. He didn't even know how to frame a question that would bring him closer to his father's meaning.
Corder saw and perhaps understood what was going on in Daniel's mind. "All right, you need background," he said harshly. "Bruno Kearnes and I were in partnership to get control of the dyeweed trade from Hise; the Cullert brothers were heading another syndicate. There was a lot of money at stake."
He looked up sharply. "A lot of money."
Daniel nodded. He understood that when Corder Leary used the phrase, it meant something very different from the pot of a florin-ante poker game.
"And . . ." Corder said, knotting his fingers and staring at them. "And I was seeing Lira Kearnes on the side."
He looked up, glaring at Daniel. "And I don't need a lecture!"
That's the first anger he's shown tonight. Because he acted like a fool and knows it. . . .
Daniel said calmly, "You weren't going to get one from me. Go on."
His father shook his head. "No, I don't suppose I was," he said. "All I can say, boy, is I hope you get it out of your system sooner than I did, because my pecker's got me in more trouble than the Alliance ever thought of doing. Including this time."
Corder turned his hands palms-up and went on, "It should've been safe enough. I never met Lira except in public or just the two of us together; Slidell made all the arrangements for our meetings, not me. So when it did come out and the Hise arrangements went into the dumper, I knew who'd done it; and I knew how to make sure Jan's pay-off didn't do him any good."
In a tone of savage gusto he said, "I broke him, boy. I broke him good. He shot himself a few years later, which saved me the trouble of keeping my thumb on him any longer."
"And you believe Lira Kearnes' son—" third son, wasn't it? "—is your offspring?" Daniel said carefully. It was a bloody strange conversation to be having, not least for the fact he and his father were talking, not screaming, at one another.
"I know Oller's my son," Corder said. "The timing's right, and Bruno Kearnes had his prostate out a year before the boy was born."
The older man started to get up but winced and settled back on the chair. "I never had anything to do with the boy growing up," he said to his hands again. "I haven't exchanged a word with Bruno since then, not even on the Senate floor. It was a bloody fool thing to have done, but I can't take it back. And now the Slidells have got back at me by killing the boy. Raw murder, and aimed against me."
And how much did you have to do with me when I was growing up, you arrogant bastard? thought Daniel, his face expressionless. Aloud he said, "I don't believe a respected officer like Commander Slidell would use the RCN as a tool of private vengeance, sir. I know I wouldn't do so myself."
Corder Leary straightened with a look of fury. This time he managed to lurch to his feet. He'd understood what Daniel was saying—all of what he was saying.
"Are you saying you're going to let Slidell get away with murdering your own brother, boy?" Corder demanded. "You know you could take care of him quietly when you're in the back of beyond!"
"I know that I'll not murder a man, sir," Daniel said. He wasn't angry, but he was horrified and suddenly drained. "Not for you, not for the Leary family. Not even for the RCN."
He'd moved the chair while he was gripping it. Now he set it back in alignment with the table.
"Good night, sir," Daniel said, turning on his heel. He closed the door behind him as he walked out.
That was a mistake—the candle within would've lighted the hall
to some degree—but he managed not to trip over the occasional table he remembered against the corridor wall. When he reached the entryway, he opened the inner door to the anteroom. The servant was waiting there.
"Please," she said. "Please, Lieutenant, let me apologize to you."
She'd thrown back the hood of her cloak. Because Daniel's eyes had adapted, he recognized her even in the dim glow as Maeve Astola herself . . . or at least the woman who'd used that name in The Lower Deck.
Daniel recoiled. The woman gripped his right hand with hers and said, "He forced me, please believe me. The only choice I had was to go through with the deception or take poison. And as soon as I'd let you in, I knew I'd made the wrong choice. I should've killed myself!"
Daniel analyzed her words with the things she hadn't said. What hold did Speaker Leary have over her? Any of a hundred things, depending on what the woman was in her heart. And this one seemed to be a decent person. . . .
"I doubt anything you did would've changed tonight's events, mistress," Daniel said. "He'd have seen to it that I met him at a different address, that's all; no harm done. But if you don't mind I'll take my leave now."
He didn't add that his father would've carried out whatever threat he'd made. Corder Leary didn't bluff, and he didn't do things halfway.
"He'll have gone out the back," the woman said, holding him with both hands now. "Please, come upstairs with me. I'm so sorry, so very sorry."
Daniel stiffened. Do you think I need charity?
But the words didn't reach his tongue. He laughed and said, "Mistress—Maeve, if I may call you? Maeve, if it hadn't been for your invitation I've have been attending a party at the Jonas Richelets' tonight. Would you care to come as my guest? And we'll see how the evening develops from there."
She threw her arms around Daniel, blubbering with relief. Quite a pretty little thing; and seemingly a decent person. . . .
CHAPTER 8
Harbor Three on Cinnabar
The steam had dissipated, but Slip 17Y was still muggy from the blast that tested the Hermes' twenty plasma thrusters, and their iridium throats radiated heat. Daniel was crawling beneath the vessel with Chief Engineer Pasternak—who'd come with him from the Sissie—and the five midshipmen assigned to the tender as they viewed the thrusters through their goggles.
Because Harbor Three was a major port, the slips had gratings that extended to cover the water on which vessels floated. That way work on and inspection of a vessel's underside didn't require use of a boat. The lower curve of the Hermes' hull floated only four feet above the surface, however, and nobody'd call the conditions comfortable. They were more comfortable than many of the things an RCN officer was expected to do, however.
"Sir?" said Midshipman Bragg, a slender, blond youth who thus far had impressed Daniel as being earnest but slow. He was the most senior of the three midshipmen who'd come from the Bainbridge, but—fortunately, to Daniel's way of thinking—he was nonetheless junior to Dorst and Vesey. They'd passed their exams and were waiting for appointments as lieutenants if all went well.
"Yes, Bragg?" Daniel said, looking over his shoulder. Bragg was staring at the stern section.
"The hull plating's discolored here, sir," the midshipman said, pointing. "Is that the way it's supposed to be?"
"The eight stern thrusters have to be placed closer together than the twelve in the bow, Bragg," Daniel said patiently. "There's more discoloration as a result—or rather, it occurs more quickly; after six months' service you won't be able to tell the difference. But if you'd switched your goggles to infrared as you were directed to do, you wouldn't be seeing that anyway."
"Oh!" said Bragg. "Sorry, sir!"
"Bloody farmer!" muttered Midshipman Blantyre, a stocky woman who seemed competent but a little too sure of herself. Daniel turned and looked at her. He didn't speak, but she felt the implied criticism and said, "Sorry," under her breath with a quick nod.
Daniel smiled slightly. Blantyre and Cory had been with Bragg for at least the past six months aboard the Bainbridge. Given how wearing Daniel found the fellow after less than a week, he had a degree of sympathy for Blantyre.
"Mister Leary!" Commander Slidell called from the quay. "Come out from under there and join me, if you will. And bring the midshipmen with you."
Slidell was the sort of man who probably sounded severe when he was making love, but he certainly wasn't making love now. "After me, Hermies," Daniel said, scrambling on all fours toward the narrow part of the hull where he'd have room to stand up. "And hop it!"
The six cutters were in their davits, clamped firmly to the spine so that they wouldn't swing about during the violence of liftoff. Unlike the Hermes herself, the cutters were well-used vessels. There was probably twenty years difference between the oldest and newest, but Daniel suspected all of them had been built before he was born.
The saving grace was that the cutters had been given new spars and rigging before they were assigned to the Hermes. Leaks in an older hull weren't especially serious: at worst the crew could wear atmosphere suits, uncomfortable but not dangerous. A cutter had only eight antennas, though. Losing one or more made it very difficult to maneuver in the Matrix.
A ladder up from the grating to the port outrigger and a catwalk from there would bring Daniel and his covey of midshipmen to the quay. Pasternak followed at the end of the line. They'd completed their work and, though it was still several hours to scheduled liftoff, tugs were already maneuvering to draw the Hermes from her slip to the center of the pool.
The inspection had been real, but Daniel was more interested in training the midshipmen than he'd been concerned about the newly installed thrusters failing. On infrared pits and cracks in heated nozzles would show up brighter than the surrounding iridium because they radiated over a greater surface area. Eroded nozzles could be replaced—if spares were available—or favored if that was the only option. The habit of checking after every landing could save ships and lives.
Slidell waited at the end of the catwalk, his hands crossed behind his back. He wore a utility uniform like everyone else as the Hermes prepared to lift off, but his was apparently brand new. Daniel had dressed to crawl under the ship on a grate that was certain to be wet and probably oily besides; he'd have looked grubby even if he hadn't been right to expect oil.
"Sir!" said Daniel, saluting. He couldn't step onto the quay while Slidell stood where he did. "I've been showing the middies how to examine hot thrusters."
"Very commendable, Leary," Slidell said, "but the present danger is that one of the cutters will come adrift in the atmosphere. I've decided I want them manned on liftoff so that they can separate safely if that happens. The crews can come back aboard when we're in orbit. You and the midshipmen will captain them. I've assigned Mister Ganse to your post in the BDC."
"Aye aye, sir," Daniel said. He'd never heard of such a proceeding, but it wasn't flatly foolish. Paired davits held each cutter. If one fractured on liftoff, the smaller vessel would flail itself and probably the tender as well to junk unless it were cast away instantly. Dropping a two-hundred ton cutter onto an inhabited area wasn't a good practice either.
Daniel turned to the midshipmen stopped along the catwalk behind him. "Bragg, you'll take six-one-oh," he said. "Blantyre, one-one; Cory, one-two. Vesey and Dorst take one-four and one-five, and I'll be in one-three."
That put the three former Bridgies in the cutters on the dorsal side of the Hermes. It would be much easier to successfully eject from there during liftoff than it would from the tender's underside while the thrusters were at full output. Cutter 613 in the bow ventral position would be a bitch and no mistake, so Daniel took it for himself.
He faced Slidell again and said, "Sir, we'll take our assigned stations now if you like."
And if you'll get out of our bloody way.
"Yes, all right," the commander said, stepping back and away. His grace and erect, military posture were impressive even in so small a thing. "And Leary? We're on
an operational deployment now. Salutes are improper, even if you didn't look like a clown when you attempt it."
"Yessir," Daniel said, striding toward the boarding bridge with an apologetic nod. He'd been told by people who liked him a good deal more than Slidell did that military courtesy would never be his strong suit. That barred Daniel from a place on an admiral's staff—which made his inept saluting rather a benefit, he felt.
The midshipmen had sprinted ahead, eager to get to their stations. Daniel knew it'd be an hour before Slidell even closed up the ship, so he walked only as briskly as he thought the captain's eyes boring into his back required. Pasternak caught up with him at the entry hatch on E Deck.
"Sir, I know what regulations say," Pasternak said in a low-voiced growl, "two power techs and wipers to each cutter's crew. But please, that's for cruising at 1g and nothing for the Power Room crew to do but try not to fall asleep in front of the gauges. Can you get along with short crews on the cutters while we lift this girl the first time for real?"
Bloody Hell, why is he asking me instead of the Captain? Daniel thought. Though the answer was obvious enough: Daniel Leary was the Captain in the Chief Engineer's mind.
Pasternak had been a very senior man for a corvette like the Princess Cecile; the larger Hermes was a more proper berth for him. He'd shipped with Daniel before because he'd needed money and Mister Leary had the reputation of being a lucky officer who made his crews rich from prize money. That was very well, but for Pasternak to act behind the back of a man like Captain Slidell could have no good results for any of the parties involved.
Daniel raised a finger to halt the engineer in the tender's main entry compartment. Armored companionways to left and right led to the four higher decks and to the bulk storage holds on F Deck below. There were four airlocks in the bow section and two in the stern for the riggers who adjusted the sails in the void, but this large chamber—not an airlock, though any compartment of a warship could be sealed off from the remainder of the vessel—was the normal means of access while on a habitable planet.