by David Drake
Ratings poured out of the hold. Some hugged friends among Daniel’s detachment or even kissed the deck in delight to be freed, but the process was as orderly as a barracks emptying at a call of General Quarters.
“I don’t mind saying I’m real glad to see you, Mr. Leary,” Domenico added with a smile that involved every millimeter of his craggy face. “The best we were hoping for was passage to Pleasaunce and maybe exchange in a year or two.”
“I think we can do better than that, Domenico,” Daniel said. “What’s our present strength?”
He glanced around to be sure everything was under control, but there was really nothing to control: these were veterans, every one of them. The most junior rating could rig, work ship, or handle the armament without a petty officer’s attention.
“A hundred and thirty, including me and Chief Baylor,” Domenico said. “The rest is ratings. The commissioned officers they took someplace else, and there’s forty of the crew killed or sent to hospital when the bastards took us over. Chief of Ship Nantes, she choked on her tongue.”
The bosun scowled like a thundercloud. “Talk about catching us with our pants down, sir, they did that for fair!”
“Yes, well, we’ll see if we can’t surprise our Alliance friends in turn,” Daniel said mildly. “We’ll ready the Aglaia for liftoff while a party frees Captain Le Golif and his officers, then reach orbit and head for home before anyone realizes what’s going on.”
His stomach twisted to think of the casualties to the Aglaia’s crew, though he supposed he should have known. The Alliance had used nonlethal gas in their takeover, but even so there were bound to be people who got an overdose or were allergic to the compound.
“Sir, it won’t work,” Domenico said miserably. “They didn’t want us getting ideas about crawling out through a cable trunk or some damned thing, so they dismantled the High Drive. Had a detail of our own people do it so we’d know for sure that even if we got loose there wasn’t any place to go.”
“And they cleaned out the arms locker,” said Chief Missileer Baylor, who’d joined them from the hold. He was a slight, sharp-featured man who looked as though he’d aged a decade since Daniel saw him a week and a half ago. “Primary and secondary armament’s still in place, such as it is, because they didn’t have time to offload it.”
“Very well,” said Daniel. “We’ll have to do something else, then.”
Learning that they couldn’t escape in the Aglaia was a shock, but it passed in a few heartbeats. Shocks were always brief for Daniel Leary. His wasn’t the sort of personality that thought it could plan for every eventuality. He did think, feel, that he could handle any crisis that arose, though. Thus far he’d been pretty successful at that.
The Aglaia’s crew was sorting itself by watches and specialties in the corridor, each portion under the command of a petty officer or the senior rating if no petty officer was present. Daniel’s detachment threw the four guards, bound with cargo tape, into the hold in place of the Cinnabars. The process was more violent than would have seemed necessary if the conditions for the former prisoners had been a little better.
“I think we’ll take the Princess Cecile,” Daniel said as calmly as though the idea had been at the top of his conscious mind for a week. “I don’t imagine any of the Alliance vessels will be so poorly guarded as to give us the opportunity we need, but I’ve found you can generally count on the Kostromans to let things slide.”
Daniel looked at what was his command, by God, until the Aglaia’s proper officers came aboard. He gave the crew a pleased, professional smile and said, “Right. Warrant officers to the bridge with me, the rest of you to general quarters and await orders.”
“Aye aye sir!” over a hundred ratings boomed as they scrambled to obey.
* * *
“Em Ex five three niner,” said the controller’s voice; a different person but as bored as the first one. “You’re cleared to leave harbor. Maintain fifty meters altitude until you’re three klicks out. Tarnhelm control out.”
“Go ahead, Gambier,” Daniel called from beside Adele. The APC slid off the pontoon and accelerated across the water’s surface for several seconds in a trough of spray before rising to the prescribed altitude.
Daniel nodded approvingly. “Gambier’s using surface effect till we build momentum,” he said.
Adele started to climb out of the cupola; Daniel waved her back with a grin. “Stay there,” he said. “We’re more likely to need you on the radio than we are me on the cannon. I hope to God that’s true, anyhow.”
His grin broadened into his full-dress smile, an expression that made even Adele feel absurdly positive. “Besides,” he added, “you could probably use the cannon too.”
Adele sniffed. “About as well as you could handle the communications chores,” she said. She permitted herself a tiny grin. “Which might be adequate. I’ve noticed that you have a very good ear.”
Kostroma City had shrunk to a smudge on the horizon on Adele’s panoramic screen. Gambier was following the programmed course, taking them well out to sea before curving southward toward the Navy Pool. The harbor and warehouse complex had Alliance detachments overseeing the Kostroman naval personnel on duty, but they weren’t linked to Tarnhelm control.
Adele had listened to enough of their radio traffic to know that the standards at the Navy Pool were lax. Very nearly as lax as they’d been under Walter III, in fact.
“I’d like to use something less threatening than an APC,” Daniel said as he scowled at the receiver of the submachine gun that was effectively part of his uniform. Adele had never seen Daniel fire a shot, now that she thought about it. “Our Alliance friends stripped airboats and anything else movable off the Aglaia as soon as they took over, it seems. The cutters too, though I wouldn’t want to use a cutter.”
“An Alliance APC will be an advantage,” Adele said. “The Kostromans won’t dare question us.”
She didn’t know whether she was being logical or merely soothing. She rather thought she was trying to be soothing, but that wasn’t a familiar experience for her.
A dam crossed the jaws of a bayou to form the Navy Pool. It swelled in Adele’s display, looking like a causeway supported by buttresses. The flap valves on the inner side formed a solid wall when the incoming tide no longer held them open.
The APC slowed mushily. Barnes stuck his head back between the drivers’ seats to call, “Sir, there’s a big aircar right slap in the center of the tender moored to the Princess Cecile. What do you want us to do?”
Adele glanced at the display before she remembered Daniel was the person who had to be able to see what was going on. She started to squeeze out of the way, then realized Daniel didn’t need the display. He’d already echoed the image through his helmet’s hologram projector.
She kept forgetting that though Daniel wasn’t an information specialist, he was a professional trained to use state-of-the-art military hardware. Given a little time and experimentation she might be able to get more out of the equipment than Daniel could, but he handled it smoothly for its intended purposes.
The Princess Cecile was the cigar-shaped corvette Adele had seen in flight only a few days earlier during the Founder’s Day celebrations. It was moored in the center of the bayou, at a distance from the rows of generally larger ships along the shore.
A flat barge was tied to the main hatch. Many of the corvette’s other hatches and ports gaped also. The scene reminded Adele of the way the Aglaia had looked before she was captured.
The aircar parked in the middle of the barge’s deck could carry at least a dozen passengers. The car’s gray-enameled sides were marked with Alliance crests and stenciled government motorpool legends.
“Set us down on the tender’s stern and pray we don’t swamp her,” Daniel ordered. “Keep the fan speed up in case it does.”
He looked at Adele and shook his head. “If they’d landed on one end or the other, we could center our weight and there’d be no problem.
”
“If wishes hooked fish,” Hogg put in tartly, “then you and I wouldn’t have ate so much dried food when we’d go off camping.”
Daniel’s servant wore a commando uniform that couldn’t be said to fit him even after he’d done some rough-and-ready tailoring to the sleeves, trouser legs, and waistband. Nobody’d suggested that the uniform should go to somebody who was more nearly the right size and age, however.
Adele was just as glad of that. At least some of the sailors were good shots, and their courage was beyond question. In the present business, however, she trusted Hogg’s reflexes as she did those of no other member of the party.
Hogg carried a stocked impeller for choice. At Daniel’s orders, so did Lamsoe, Sun, and Dasi. Adele hadn’t understood why until Hogg explained to the sailors.
Submachine guns were lighter, handier and fine at short range. The light pellets were next to useless against vehicles or targets a hundred yards away, however. The group didn’t know what they’d be facing in the next few minutes, and Daniel’s desire for a range of alternatives was worth the extra weight.
Gambier dropped the APC to the surface of the water, then bounced up onto the tender. The inevitable gush of spray soaked the car already there. The driver jumped into her cab, shaking her fist at the APC.
Daniel smiled faintly. “Whoever’s here ahead of us complicates things,” he said, “but we’ll handle it.”
Adele nodded crisply. “I didn’t do a cull and sort for messages referring to the Princess Cecile,” she said. “It’s my fault.”
The APC settled. The tender rocked uncomfortably but finally stabilized with a slight list. When Gambier was sure it wouldn’t turn turtle, he shut down the engines.
“It was your fault that time is finite and that I was in a hurry?” Daniel said. “No, I really don’t think it was.”
He turned to face the enclosed troop compartment. “Same drill as before: Ms. Mundy does all the talking until I give orders to the contrary.”
Adele saw Daniel’s jaw muscles twitch in a familiar smile. “Or the shooting starts, all right? But we don’t start it.”
Adele stepped onto the tender’s quivering deck. The car’s driver had gotten out again; she wore an Alliance naval uniform. “You there!” Adele snapped in upper-class scorn. “Who told you to land in the middle of this site? What are you doing here, anyway?”
She heard Hogg murmur in pleased appreciation.
The driver swallowed a lungful of protests in sudden fear. Greenish kift juice dribbled down her cheek.
“Look, I’m just driving Commander Strachan and the inspectors,” she said as she backed toward the cab again. “Look, I’ll move it, all right?”
She closed the hatch behind her before Adele could have replied if she wanted to. “They’ll be examining the ship to take her into Alliance service,” Daniel murmured into Adele’s right ear. “Probably three officers and aides, but nobody looking for trouble.”
The aircar’s fans howled; it slid sideways clumsily. Adele strode toward the corvette’s hatch, trying to ignore the way the deck hopped beneath her soles. She hoped the idiot driver wouldn’t manage to fall off the tender and bring a rush of people out into the open.
The Princess Cecile was much more cramped than the Aglaia. Two Kostroman sailors were in the entrance lobby, standing beside mops and buckets of soapy water. They stopped talking when they saw the “commandoes.”
“Where are the inspectors?” Adele demanded. She heard footsteps and a mixture of voices approaching.
The sailors looked at one another. A group of people wearing Kostroman and Alliance officers’ uniforms walked into the entranceway from the hall to the left.
“What’s this?” said an Alliance officer.
“Leary!” a Kostroman officer cried. Adele recognized him as one of the plump young peacocks she’d met at the Admiral’s Ball. His name was Candace. “What are you—”
Adele had her pistol out butt-down at her side. It wasn’t a magic wand; you didn’t point it for threat the way sailors behind her were doing with their weapons. “Don’t move or I’ll kill you!” she said, her eyes holding those of the officer from Pleasaunce.
Paunchy, in his thirties … his light ginger hair would fluff out like a halo when the pellet penetrated his cranial vault through the light bones at the back of his eye socket. She could see it—
Hogg stepped forward and made a quarter turn of his upper body. He planted the butt of his impeller in the pit of Candace’s stomach. Candace fell to his knees, then spewed his dinner on the unscrubbed metal decking.
All around Adele Cinnabar sailors seized Kostroman and Alliance personnel alike, forcing them to their knees at gunpoint with shouted threats. Teams scrambled down the halls in both directions from the entrance alcove. A submachine gun fired, a needlessly long burst that sent bits of pellet and chips from the walls sparkling all the way back into the entrance. Someone screamed curses in a Cinnabar accent.
“Sir, they’ve locked the power room!” a voice cried.
“The bridge is secured!” another voice called.
The Alliance officer’s nametag read STRACHAN in black letters on a gold field. He hadn’t moved except to close his mouth since Adele spoke. Two sailors caught Strachan by the elbows, kicked his knees forward, and began strapping his wrists behind his back with cargo tape. He didn’t resist, but his eyes never left Adele’s.
The vessel shuddered as a heavy door slid to a stop. Daniel returned to the entrance alcove from the left; from the bridge, Adele supposed. “That was the power room containment bulkhead,” he said with a scowl. “There’s no override from the bridge.”
He glanced around. A dozen captives lay on the deck, trussed like hens for market.
Hogg returned from the tender and gave Daniel a thumbs up. “We’ve got an aircar now too, sir,” the servant announced. “We’re coming up in the world.”
Daniel’s usual grin replaced the scowl. “Well,” he said, “we can’t burn through the containment bulkhead even with the plasma cannon, so I guess we’ll have to talk some Kostroman sailors out of the power room.”
“I guess we will,” said Adele Mundy as she pocketed her pistol.
* * *
“Look, Leary …” Candace said. The gray sheen of his face made him look like a death mask of his normally handsome self. His seat was swiveled to face out from the Attack Console.
Candace rubbed his forehead and went on, “I’m sorry I ever met you! Are you trying to get me killed? First you come to my house, my house for God’s sake! And now you think I’m going to help you and a gang of pirates steal a ship? You must be out of your mind!”
Daniel sighed. He’d thought he could bring Candace around if he took the Kostroman to the bridge. There were no open threats—though Hogg was nearby, trimming his fingernails with a knife as he pretended to watch Adele at one of the bridge consoles. The captured Alliance officers were in the wardroom, nearby but out of sight. All that was happening was that Leary and Candace, friends from different planets, were talking over a mutual problem.
Candace didn’t see it that way. Well, Daniel hadn’t really expected he would; but neither did Daniel see any other practical way of getting the Kostromans in the power room to surrender. Adele was sure that they couldn’t get a message out, but Daniel and his Cinnabar crew couldn’t lift the Princess Cecile with an unknown number of hostile sailors in charge of her power room.
At the moment the vessel was running on standby power from the auxiliary power unit in a bow compartment. The APU’s output wasn’t enough to operate the plasma motors, much less the antimatter conversion system of the High Drive.
“Leary,” Candace said, speaking with the desperate earnestness of a man in fear of his life, “I’m neutral in this, just like I told you before. I don’t wish you any harm, but the Alliance of Free Stars is in power now, there’s no two ways about it.”
Daniel sat on a fold-down jumpseat on one edge of the console. Candace t
ried to rotate his seat to face away from Daniel. Hogg held the chair where it was.
Candace acted like a kid hiding his head under the blanket to keep the bogeyman from finding him, Daniel thought. Cowardice like that in a man, let alone a fellow naval officer, turned Daniel’s stomach.
“You’ve got to leave me out of whatever you’re doing,” Candace said. “They’ll kill me!”
“Sir?” said Hogg as he looked down at the Kostroman in disgust equal to Daniel’s own. “It sounds to me like the problem is he’s more afraid of what the Alliance is going to do to him than he is of us. Let me have him for a couple minutes and he won’t think that anymore.”
Adele turned her head toward the three men without expression.
“No need for anybody else to watch,” Hogg added in slight embarrassment. “I’ll take him down to the forward magazine.”
Candace hid his face in his hands. He was shaking. It suddenly struck Daniel that the Kostroman’s fear wasn’t really for his physical well-being but rather because he was being asked to make a decision. Candace was more afraid to act than he was to die.
Daniel stood. He smiled at Hogg and Adele. “No,” he said. “Benno here’s a friend of mine and I don’t want anybody to hurt him.”
He paused to let Candace relax slightly, then continued, “The Alliance officers he was squiring about the ship aren’t friends of mine, though. Remember how we killed those first two commandoes to get the others to talk, Lt. Mundy? Go next door and do the same thing to Commander Strachan and his staff, one at a time.”
He paused. “Until Benno decides to help us.”
Adele rose from the commo officer’s console, still without expression. “Take your submachine gun,” Daniel said, nodding toward the weapon she’d left hanging from the back of her seat.
“Yes,” Adele said. “That’s the better choice for this purpose.”
Candace stared at the three Cinnabars in horrified amazement. Daniel wasn’t sure that the Kostroman was really taking in what was going on.
“Look, sir,” said Hogg. He looked at least as concerned as Candace did. Hogg had been unconscious when Daniel and Adele put on their charade with the commandoes, so he thought this was real. “This is, you know, more up my alley. I’ll take care of it.”