by David Drake
Daniel smiled with the delight of a happy infant. “I wouldn’t have noticed that, Woetjans,” he said. “I didn’t notice it. But I will another time, thanks to you.”
The bosun grinned and slammed the heel of her right fist into the palm of her left hand. Adele realized again that people had very different ways of expressing pleasure.
Adele said, “The image is the Archduke Wilhelm, laid down at the same time as the Princess Cecile but in the Isocha Yards instead of in Kostroma City. She was wrecked on landing within a standard year of her first liftoff. She was sold to Krishnamurti and Wife for scrapping, but the broker instead repaired her and passed her on to the Bijalan Navy. That was twenty-three standard years ago.”
“Bijala has a navy?” Cory said in surprise.
“If they do, their officers probably have bones through their noses,” Cazelet replied contemptuously. “We had some Bijalan spacers sailing for us at Phoenix Starfreight. They were pretty handy as riggers, but you had to be careful not to test them with something complicated like a screw fastener.”
“Kostroman government records simply indicate that the Wilhelm was sold out of service,” Adele said. She hadn’t dealt with Bijalans personally, so she was glad that Cazelet’s firsthand experience confirmed — colorfully — the impression which published sources had given her. “While I was on Kostroma, I assembled all the data I could. That included the files of Krishnamurti and Wife, which is how I learned about the Bijalan connection.”
As Adele heard herself speak, she remembered that in most groups she would be asked why she had scooped up the records of private brokerage firms on a planet where she happened to be working. She didn’t have to explain to her shipmates on the Princess Cecile: they took it for granted, as they took for granted that despite years of starfaring, Officer Mundy had to be watched carefully if she went out on the hull lest she drift off unawares.
The Sissies also took it for granted that the information Adele gathered compulsively would help them time and time again. As it was doing here.
While Adele spoke, Daniel turned to his display and began going through the data which she had transmitted. He didn’t have Adele’s skills at sorting information, but she had seen before that his knowledge of ships allowed him to take intuitive shortcuts to insights that no amount of study would have gained her.
The junior officers turned to their displays also. They followed Daniel’s lead like a school of fish moving as a single shimmering entity.
“I don’t have any record of what happened to the Wilhelm after she left Kostroma,” Adele said, “but it appears to me a reasonable bet that we won’t be unmasked if we claim to be her.”
“Given Bijala’s climate, the Wilhelm’s a pile of rust on a mudbank by now,” Cazelet said flatly. “Nobody on Madison will have seen the real thing to compare with us.”
“Nobody on Bijala will have seen the real Wilhelm, either,” said Daniel in a tone of amazement. “Look at the surveyor’s report — ”
Adele didn’t bother with her console. She used her personal data unit as a controller for the console anyway, so she simply switched to the little unit’s own display. It was adequately sharp for this purpose.
“See, the Wilhelm broke her back when her aft thrusters failed and her stern hit the dock. That’s why they scrapped her. Now, look at the repairs that the brokers made.”
As Daniel spoke, he highlighted sections of the reports. His subordinates mirrored his display, while Adele kept watch on all four consoles. The pattern was a work of art if you had the right sort of mind, she supposed.
“They replaced two thrusters,” said Vesey, speaking for the group as its most senior member. “Which left the Wilhelm two thrusters short of specifications, but that isn’t critical if the officers know what they’re doing. But they should have replaced twenty feet of hull, and instead there’s just a six-foot band of structural plastic as a stiffener.”
“And it’s not even bolted on properly, just tacked!” Cory said. “Not that that would matter. Look how the skin on both sides is crumpled! You couldn’t anchor bolts in that.”
“I don’t understand how they could get officers to lift in a ship in that condition,” said Cory cautiously. He seemed to be feeling the results of being clouted twice for having spoken — or almost spoken — out of turn. “Real spacers, I mean.”
“Cory got to the main point,” Daniel said, cutting off the discussion without raising his voice. “The Wilhelm’s sailing master — ”
The corvette had actually been renamed Demon of Fanti before liftoff, but Adele caught herself before she interrupted.
“ — was from Cazador, but he’d drunk his way out of his captain’s license. The remaining officers were Bijalans, and the crew were whoever the Bijalans could hire from the waterfront in Kostroma City. I don’t imagine they were all spacers, and I’m certain that none of them were both sober and holding an able-bodied rating. Most were neither, I suspect.”
There was general laughter. Woetjans said, “Like Six said to start out, if that lot didn’t crash on liftoff, then Kostroma was the last planet they saw in their lives. So — ”
She looked around.
“ — when do we lift, sir?”
“In about eighteen hours, by my calculation,” said Daniel. Grinning broadly, he added, “But perhaps we should ask former Principal Hrynko, the Sissie’s new owner. Eh, Adele?”
Adele gave the room as warm a smile as her personality allowed. “I’ll discuss that matter with my officers,” she said, “but for now I think we can expect to lift in about eighteen hours. I should point out, however — ”
They are my friends. They are more than friends; they’re my family.
“ — that my yacht is named the House of Hrynko. I hope you’ll all remember that, and I hope that I will remember it also.”
The laughter resumed as Woetjans undogged the hatch to get to her duties.
CHAPTER 5
Holm on Kronstadt
There were six spaces reserved for commanding officers in front of the Operations Annex, three ahead and three behind the space marked Admiral; four were empty. Hogg pulled into one, rode up the curb, and straightened out. The car was half into the admiral’s spot, but Daniel was pretty sure that Cox wouldn’t arrive in the next few minutes.
Hogg looked at him truculently and said, “We’re bloody leaving the planet in a couple hours, aren’t we?”
Daniel got out with a smile. “Quite right, Hogg,” he said. He walked toward the entrance carrying the small chip case. “I don’t expect to be long.”
A blue pennant with the single silver star of a captain dangled from the standard on the car’s right fender. Closely examined, one would see that Hogg had picked out the previous name Cossack and embroidered Princess Cecile in its place. He wasn’t the most polished servant an RCN officer might have, but even in matters of display he was more useful than an outsider might have guessed from his scruffy exterior.
The four guards at the front door were spacers, not Marines. They watched those entering the building, probably checking uniforms, but they didn’t bother looking at IDs. That would have been a major bottleneck given the crush of traffic caused by the deployment warning order, as well as being a pointless waste of time.
The Operations Annex was a converted warehouse whose wooden floor held the odors from the spices which had been stored here in former days. Daniel stepped out of the doorway but then paused to close his eyes and take in the mixture of scents. He understood his fellow humans well enough to know that the personnel working here must complain bitterly about the stinking conditions, but to Daniel it was trip back to his childhood and Uncle Stacy’s tales of wondrous worlds among the stars.
DEPARTURES in holographic red letters hung over two consoles in front of an enclosed office in the corner. The bar which framed them was also of coherent light. A lieutenant in utilities talked heatedly to the enlisted clerk at the console on the right, but the other clerk was shiftin
g data with no outside interference.
Until now, Daniel thought. Wearing a pleasant smile, he strode to the left-hand console, waited a polite moment, and then said, “Excuse me, technician. I’d like to file my departure request — ”
The technician — thirtyish and more fit than the normal run of desk jockeys — looked up with a sour expression.
“ — and because we’re operating directly under Admiral Cox’s orders, I decided to deliver the information in chip form rather than transmitting it with the risk it might go into the wrong bin.”
Phrased that way, the statement wasn’t quite a threat. Despite Daniel’s smile, the clerk was certainly aware that it could become a threat in a heartbeat.
“Ah, all right, sir,” said the technician, reaching through his holographic display to take the case. He opened it, removed the chip, and inserted it into an access slot on his console. “This would be . . . ?”
“I’m Leary of the Princess Cecile,” Daniel said. “We’ll be lifting for Sunbright at 1700 hours, carrying out the regional commander’s directions.”
“Sunbright?” the clerk said. He stared at the data which the chip had just thrown onto his screen. It merely expanded on what Daniel had just told him, of course. “Sunbright? Ah . . .”
His index finger made quick gestures on a virtual touch-screen. He said, “Ah, Captain? If you wouldn’t mind waiting for a moment, I’d like to show this to the deputy head for his input. That is, your plan’s in order, but there are some — ”
The door of the office behind him opened; a lieutenant commander wearing Grays stepped out. He was a short, slim man with a dark complexion and hair as black as cannel coal.
“Sir?” he said, his eyes fastening on Daniel. “Captain Leary? I’m El-Tee-See Shiniviki, the deputy operations officer. Might I see you in my office for a moment?”
Daniel walked into the office with no more than the faint, friendly smile he had been wearing since he arrived at the annex. It was a struggle not to laugh out loud, though.
Daniel had come here to convince everyone in the Macotta Squadron — and by extension, everyone to whom they talked — that the Princess Cecile was heading for Sunbright; and in addition, that her captain was a ninny. He was having greater success than he had even hoped.
“Please take a seat, Captain,” Shiniviki said, nodding to a chair as he sat down at his console. “I realize that you’re not under the squadron’s operational control, but I feel that I’d be derelict in my duty if I didn’t offer some advice.”
He cleared his throat, then added, “My advice is that you not go to Sunbright.”
Daniel sat carefully. The chairs were extruded metal, standard RCN issue; they were no different from those in the Sissie’s wardroom except that these were not bolted to the deck.
“But Commander,” Daniel said in apparent puzzlement, “Admiral Cox was very clear about what he expected me to do.”
Shiniviki stared at him, frowning in concentration. He’s trying to imagine how somebody so stupidly literal could have gotten the reputation and quick promotions that I have, Daniel thought. And he’s about to put that down to extremely good luck.
“Look, Captain,” the lieutenant commander said, “Admiral Cox needs to demonstrate that we, that the RCN, are making a proper effort to repatriate this rebel leader. But the admiral doesn’t care — that is, nobody really believes that you can succeed. That’s if the rebel even exists.”
He leaned back and spread his arms. The walls of the office were real wood, probably a local variety. They had been varnished instead of being painted; the crossing diagonals of the grain gave the impression that the smooth surface was faceted.
“Our intelligence section doesn’t believe there’s a rebel using the name Freedom at all,” Shiniviki said. “He’s just an excuse dreamed up by the Sunbright government to explain why they can’t put down the rebels after four years of fighting.”
“Well, I’m sure you have reasons for your belief, Commander,” Daniel said. He opened his eyelids still further to give the impression that he was a popeyed innocent. “But orders are orders, as our friends in the Alliance are fond of saying. I can but try.”
“Sir . . . ,” Shiniviki said, obviously struggling to find the right words — and not to use the wrong ones to an officer who was his superior in rank despite being several years younger. “Ah. We’re at peace with the Alliance, of course, but Sunbright itself is under blockade by the Funnel Squadron, and there’s quite a lot of action between Alliance patrols and blockade runners of all descriptions. Accidents can happen, and — ”
He grimaced, looked at Daniel and looked away. “Look, sir,” he said. “There’s a lot of people in this region who believe that we’re behind the trouble on Sunbright. That Cinnabar is, I mean. Now, it’s not true, but you know how frustrated spacers can get on blockade duty. It wouldn’t do to have an incident between an Alliance patrol and an RCN warship, you see?”
That’s almost a plea, Daniel realized. Shiniviki knew the kind of trouble there’d be in the Macotta Region if an Alliance destroyer put a missile into a yacht in Cinnabar service — or worse, if the firebrand in command of the Cinnabar ship managed to gut an Alliance patrol vessel. Beyond that practical consideration, though, the lieutenant commander seemed really worried that a foolish outsider was getting into trouble more complicated than he could imagine.
“Commander,” Daniel said, rising to his feet. “I fully appreciate your concern. I will not act in a fashion that will complicate life for the personnel of the Macotta Region, and if somebody else isn’t as careful — ”
He felt his grin harden. At this instant, he probably didn’t give the impression of a hapless dimwit as he’d been trying to do during the interview.
“ — I’ll work very hard to avoid making the situation worse. But — ”
His thawed his face back to harmlessly cheerful.
“ — I’m not going to spend my time drinking with Funnel officials in their sector capital and moaning about what a terrible thing this business on Sunbright is. I’m going to do my job, to the best of my ability.”
Shiniviki shrugged. “Then I can only wish you the best of luck, Captain,” he said.
As Daniel left the office, he thought he heard the lieutenant commander add, “And that’s what I hope for the Macotta Region too.”
* * * *
Adele browsed information about Sunbright at the communications console, feeling the Princess Cecile shudder as the pumps cycled reaction mass. There would be plenty of time to strap in when it was really time to lift off; and if she forgot, as sometimes happened, it was unlikely to make any difference.
“Testing H,” Pasternak warned over the command channel. The ship wallowed in a pillow of steam which roared from the slip beneath the sternmost starboard thruster. The unit was operating at low flow, with its nozzles irised fully open so that the plasma developed minimal thrust. Even so, the exhaust boiled cubic yards of water and raised a plume sparkling with ions which hadn’t yet been slaked by the atmosphere.
Some of the Sissie’s ports must still be open, because Adele felt the soggy warmth of steam and a moment later sneezed when ozone bit her nasal passages. Spacers tended to be blasé about conditions which would have most laymen screaming about health risks. Yes, of course there were health risks in shepherding a starship through the Matrix.
The roar of exhaust silenced momentarily. “Testing A,” Pasternak said. He was running up the thrusters one at a time. This time the bloom of steam and noise came from below the port bow.
When Adele first had lifted as signals officer of the Princess Cecile, she had turned her whole attention to data on her display; that way she didn’t have to think about what might happen to the ship. Now —
She grinned as broadly as she ever did, though a stranger wouldn’t have noticed the expression.
— she turned her whole attention to data on her display. because she didn’t worry about what might happen to the ship.
The more things change, the more they stay the same.
Pasternak shut down his thruster, then lit the next in sequence. The Power Room boards were echoed in miniature on Adele’s display, but the numbers and gauges meant nothing to her. She put them up simply from a desire for completeness.
“Adele?” said Daniel over a two-way link. “Do you perhaps have something that a half-pay lieutenant could do while the ship’s officers are preparing for liftoff?”
Adele expanded the little image of Daniel set into the top of her display along with those of the Sissie’s other officers. He was now in profile.
She smiled again, tightly: that meant he was looking at her, kitty-corner across the compartment. Even at so short a distance, the holographic image was sharper.
“I don’t have any duties at present, Daniel,” she said, continuing to use the intercom. Even without the roar of the thrusters, the bridge of a starship preparing for liftoff was too noisy a place to easily call from one console to another. “I’m just studying the situation on Sunbright. Ah — you’re really giving up command for the sake of your role as Lieutenant Kirby Pensett, then?”
A roar that was louder but more diffuse shook the corvette, rocking her from side to side and slapping water violently against her pontoons. A larger ship must be lifting from a berth nearby. Adele switched the top third of her display to an optical panorama to see what was going on.
“That’ll be the Blanche,” Daniel said. He hadn’t bothered to check anything but what memory and his ears provided. “Admiral Cox put the Blonde in orbit instead of the usual destroyer as soon as we sent down the orders to proceed to Tattersall. Now he’s sending her sister ship up to replace her while she lands, loads consumables for the voyage, and tops off her reaction mass.”
He cleared his throat and said, “I, ah, have a tendency to take charge, you know. If I happen to do that while I’m supposed to be a passenger on the, ah, House of Hrynko, the results might range from bad to very bad. I’m trying to avoid that. And besides . . . well, it’s a bad habit. Any of my officers can handle this mission without me looking over their shoulders.”