by David Weber
Fortunately, however, she was already a hyper-dog, and she'd been very careful to preserve the wall-crossing certificate she'd received from the captain of the transport which had originally delivered her from Grayson to Manticore to prove it. She'd been home six or seven times on leave during her assignment to the Academy, as well, which meant that compared to Karl and Shobhana, she was an old hand at hyper translations. That, at least, meant she wasn't likely to be smeared with grease, have her entire body shaved, be required to drink or eat assorted unpalatable substances, or otherwise be subjected to the rites of passage which the senior members of the lodge so cheerfully inflicted upon the newbies in their midst.
But it also meant that she and Grigovakis, who also had several commercial wall-crossings on his record, were available for regular duty assignment. So while Karl, Shobhana, and the handful of other dirt-grubbers among the enlisted members of the ship's company were undergoing the transformation into hyper-dogs, Abigail found herself working as Lieutenant Commander Atkins' assistant when Gauntlet emerged from hyper-space just outside the hyper limit of the Tiberian System. And also working very hard to project the same blasé attitude towards just another trip across the wall.
Of course, there were compensations to having the duty, she reflected. She might not get to help stuff Shobhana headfirst down a tube into a darkened, zero-gee compartment in her underwear to find and bring back "King Neptune's" floating, stolen "pearls" (usually lovingly saved over-ripe tomatoes or something similarly squishy) in her bare hands, but she did get to see the spectacular beauty of the main visual display as Gauntlet's Warshawski sails radiated the blue glory of transit energy. She'd seen it before, of course. Passenger liners were very careful to make sure their paying customers got their money's worth and provided huge holo displays in their main salons expressly for moments like this. But there was a big difference between that and witnessing it as a member of a starship's command crew.
"Transit completed, Sir," Lieutenant Commander Atkins reported.
"Very good, Astro." Captain Oversteegen tipped his command chair back, watching the main maneuvering plot until it updated, showing Gauntlet's position relative to the local primary and major system bodies. He gave Atkins a few moments to confirm the ship's position—a task Abigail was dutifully performing at her own backup station, as well—then let his chair come back upright.
"Do you have a course for Refuge, Astro?" he asked.
"Yes, Sir. Transit time will be approximately seven-point-six hours at four hundred and fifty gravities."
"Very well," Oversteegen replied. "Let's get a move on."
The captain waited while Atkins passed orders to the helmsman and Gauntlet brought up her impeller wedge and settled on her new heading. Then he stood.
"Commander Atkins, you have the con."
"Aye, Sir. I have the con," Atkins acknowledged, and Oversteegen turned to the exec.
"Commander Watson, would you and Ms. Hearns please join me in my briefing room?"
Abigail tried not to twitch in surprise, but she couldn't keep herself from looking up quickly, and he smiled ever so slightly at her. She felt herself color, but he only stood waiting patiently, and she cleared her throat quickly.
"Ma'am," she said to Atkins, "I request relief."
"You stand relieved, Ms. Hearns," the astrogator replied with equal formality. "Mr. Grigovakis," she looked past Abigail to where Grigovakis had been working with Commander Blumenthal's plotting party.
"Yes, Ma'am?"
"You have Astrogation," she told him.
"Aye, aye, Ma'am. I have Astrogation," he confirmed.
Abigail climbed out of her chair as Atkins moved to the chair at the center of the command deck and Grigovakis took over at Astrogation. She waited respectfully for the captain and exec to walk through the briefing room hatch first, then followed them in.
"Close the hatch, Ms. Hearns," Oversteegen said, and she hit the button. The hatch slid silently shut, and the captain waved her over to the conference table and pointed at a chair.
"Sit," he said, and she sat.
"I imagine you're at least a bit curious as t' why I asked you t' join the Exec and me," he said after a moment, and paused with one eyebrow arched.
"Well, yes, Sir. A bit," she admitted.
"My reasons are simple enough," he told her. "We're goin' t' have t' make contact with Refuge, and as I indicated when I first explained our reasons for comin' t' Tiberian in the first place, I feel it's important that we do so in a way which doesn't get their backs up. In addition, I feel it's equally important that we do so in a nonthreatenin' fashion. For that reason, I've decided that you will be in command of our shore party."
His tone was blandly conversational, but Abigail felt her soul stiffen in instant response.
After his remarks at that initial formal dinner, Oversteegen had seemed completely oblivious to the fact that Abigail was a Grayson. She'd been grateful for that, and even more grateful when she realized the captain must have . . . counseled Grigovakis about his behavior. The midshipman was never going to be a likable person, but at least he'd cut way back on the nasty little innuendos he so enjoyed directing at his fellows. For that matter, he'd eased up considerably on what Karl called his "little tin god" persona with the enlisted personnel with whom he came into contact, and she had no doubt that that, too, related directly to his private interview with the captain.
She'd been surprised at Oversteegen's intervention, and even more at the fact that he'd apparently chosen to intervene directly, rather than delegating the task to Commander Watson or Lieutenant Commander Abbott. But she'd also been undeniably appreciative. She'd never doubted her ability to handle Grigovakis if she had to, but it was a vast relief to have that source of friction removed—or at least considerably diminished—in Snotty Row.
But the gratitude she'd felt for the captain's intervention couldn't offset the stab of pure fury she felt at his present announcement. He might have come down on Grigovakis for creating unnecessary friction between members of his ship's company, but it clearly hadn't been because he disagreed with Grigovakis' view of Graysons. After all, who could be better to serve as spokeswoman to a batch of primitive, isolationist religious fanatics than another primitive religious fanatic?
"Captain," she said after the briefest of pauses in a carefully controlled voice, "I really don't know anything about the Refugians' religious beliefs. With all due respect, Sir, I'm not certain that I'm the best choice for a liaison with the planet."
"I believe you underestimate your capabilities, Ms. Hearns," Oversteegen replied calmly. "I assure you, I've considered this matter carefully, and on the merits, you are the best choice."
"Sir," she said, "I appreciate your confidence in my abilities." She managed to smile without even gritting her teeth. "And I will, of course, attempt to carry out any orders to the very best of my ability. But I'm only a midshipwoman. Isn't it possible that the local authorities will feel offended if someone as junior as I am is sent down as our liaison?"
"That possibility exists, of course," Oversteegen conceded, apparently totally unaware of her blistering resentment. "I believe, however, that it's unlikely. Indeed, I would imagine that a single middy and a squad or so of Marines would be seen as less threatenin'—and intrusive—than a more senior officer might be. And of the middies available t' me, I believe you're the best choice."
Abigail hovered on the brink of demanding to know just why he felt that way, but she bit her tongue and kept her mouth shut. After all, it was fairly evident why he did.
"In keepin' with my desire t' seem no more threatenin' or intrusive than absolutely necessary, Linda," he said, turning his attention to the exec, "I think it would be best not t' put Gauntlet into Refuge orbit. At least initially, I want our contact with these people t' be as low-key as possible. I'd like you t' spend some time with Ms. Hearns, briefin' her on exactly what sort of information we're lookin' for.
"Your object," he continued, look
ing back at Abigail, "will be t' explain why we're here and t' get a feel for the Fellowship of the Elect's attitude towards our presence. Any information you pick up directly will, of course, be welcome, but I don't expect you t' push hard. Your job is really more t' break the ice and put a friendly face on our visit. Think of yourself as our ambassador. If things proceed as I hope they will, you'll undoubtedly be involved in our further contact with Refuge, but we'll be sendin' down someone a bit more senior for the follow up contact and interviews."
"Yes, Sir," Abigail replied. There was, after all, nothing else she could say.
"Linda," he said to the exec, "in addition t' briefin' Ms. Hearns, I want you t' give some thought t' exactly how many Marines we should send down with her."
"Are you expecting some sort of trouble, Sir?" Commander Watson asked, and he shrugged.
"I'm not expectin' anythin'," he said. "At the same time, we're a long way from home, we've never had any previous contact of our own with Refuge, and I'll feel more comfortable sending someone along t' keep an eye on Ms. Hearns. I'm confident in her ability t' look after herself, of course." He smiled briefly at Abigail. "At the same time, it never hurts t' have someone along t' watch your back, at least until you're certain you know the local ropes. Besides," he smiled more broadly, "it'll be good experience for her."
"Yes, Sir. Understood," Watson acknowledged with a slight smile of her own. Just as if she were a nanny promising Daddy to keep me out of trouble back home, Abigail thought resentfully.
"Once we've dropped her and her contact team," Oversteegen went on, "I'd like t' have some fairly obvious reason for takin' Gauntlet out of Refuge orbit. I don't want t' make too big a point out of how careful we're bein' not t' intrude upon them any more than we have to."
"Well, as you just pointed out, Sir, we're the first Queen's ship to visit Tiberian," Watson said. "And everybody knows how compulsive the RMN is about updating our charts at every opportunity. It'd make perfectly good sense for us to do a standard survey run, wouldn't it?"
"Exactly the sort of thing I was thinkin' about," Oversteegen agreed.
"I'm sure we could draft a note from you to the planetary government explaining what we're doing, Sir," Watson said with a smile. "In fact, Ms. Hearns' official reason for visiting the planet could be to deliver the note in person as a gesture of courtesy."
"An excellent idea," Oversteegen said. "I'll explain that we're lookin' into Star Warrior's disappearance in conjunction with our Erewhonese allies. That'll give Ms. Hearns an openin' t' pursue any avenues of inquiry which suggest themselves. And if we're prepared t' spend the time surveyin' just t' update our charts, it should make things seem routine enough t' help put them as much at ease as possible with our presence."
He leaned back in his chair and gazed at Abigail for a few seconds, then shrugged.
"You may believe I'm overly concerned with tiptoein' around the Refugians' sensibilities, Ms. Hearns. It's certainly possible that I am. However, as my mother has always been fond of sayin', you can catch more flies with honey than with vinegar. It will cost us very little t' avoid stepping on any exaggerated sensibilities these people may have. And t' be honest, given the fact that they've deliberately sought isolation in this system, I feel we have an added obligation not t' intrude any more deeply upon them than we must."
Abigail managed not to blink in surprise, but it was difficult. He seemed completely sincere. She would never have expected that out of him, and his apparent sensitivity to the Refugians' attitudes and concerns only seemed to underscore his insensitivity to her own reaction at being so casually shuffled off into a stereotyped niche in his brain.
"At any rate," he went on more briskly, "as soon as the Exec has briefed you and selected your landin' party, we can get you down there t' begin talkin' t' these people for us."
* * *
"Oh, shit. Are you serious? A cruiser?" Haicheng Ringstorff stared at George Lithgow, his sensor officer and second-in-command.
"That's what it looks like," Lithgow replied. "We can't be positive yet—all we really have is the hyper footprint and an impeller signature, but both of them are consistent with a single heavy cruiser or battlecruiser."
"A heavy cruiser is bad enough to be going on with, George," Ringstorff said sourly. "Let's not borrow trouble by thinking any bigger than we have to!"
"I'm only telling you what the sensor data says." Lithgow shrugged. "If whoever it is is headed for Refuge—and it looks like they are—our inner-system platforms should get a positive ID for us. In the meantime, what do we do about it?"
Ringstorff smiled thinly. Lithgow had said "we," but what he really meant was "you." Which was fair enough, he supposed, given that Ringstorff was the man officially in charge of the four-ring circus the entire Tiberian operation had turned into.
He leaned back in his chair and ran irritated fingers through his thick, dark hair. Ringstorff was tall for an Andermani, with broad shoulders and a powerful physique, and there were still traces of the Imperial Marine colonel he once had been. But that had been long ago, before certain minor financial irregularities in his regiment's accounts had come to the IG's attention. In light of his excellent record in combat and numerous decorations, he'd been allowed to resign without prosecution or even an official investigation, but his career in the Empire had been over. Which had worked out for the best, perhaps, because for the past twenty-five T-years, Haicheng Ringstorff had found much more profitable employment for his skills.
In many ways, his present mission promised to be the most profitable yet. Which it damned well ought to be, given the monumental pain in the ass it seemed determined to turn into!
"What's the schedule on Tyler and Lamar?" he asked Lithgow after a moment.
"Schedule? For these lunatics?" Lithgow snorted.
"You know what I mean," Ringstorff said irritably.
"Yeah, I guess I do," Lithgow admitted. He pulled a memo pad out of his pocket and punched keys, obviously refreshing his memory, then shrugged. "Tyler is due back sometime within the next seventy-two standard hours," he said. "If he and Lamar stayed in company with each other, we can expect both of them in that same window. If they split up, Lamar could be up to another full standard day behind him."
"Shit," Ringstorff muttered. "You know, the whole reason for picking this system was that nobody ever came here."
"That was the theory, anyway," Lithgow agreed.
"Yeah. Sure!" Ringstorff made a disgusted face and thought some more.
"The Four Yahoos might be a little easier to control if we could tell them why we're here and why we're supposed to lie so low," Lithgow pointed out rather diffidently after a moment.
"Not my decision," Ringstorff grunted. Not that Lithgow didn't have a point. But Manpower of Mesa was not in the habit of taking "captains" who were little more than common Silesian thugs into its confidence. For that matter, Ringstorff and Lithgow were the only two members of the hidden depot ship's Mesan crew who knew exactly why they were here. There were times the information restrictions made Ringstorff want to strangle people with his bare hands, but over all, he had to agree that they made better sense than usual in this case.
If everything went well with the main Manpower operation, the captains and crews of the four ex-Solarian heavy cruisers operating out of the carefully hidden base in Tiberian's outer asteroid belt would never know the real reason they'd been here. In that case, both they and the ships might well be useful to Manpower again, somewhere down the road. But if they were needed to support the current operation, then the odds were that once they'd performed their required function, Ringstorff would be instructed to use the remote-controlled nuclear scuttling charges carefully hidden aboard their ships to be sure there were no embarrassing witnesses.
Personally, Ringstorff would shed no tears if he got those orders. The universe would be a better place without Tyler, Lamar, or their two colleagues. Blowing up the ships would be wasteful, however, so preserving their crews' blissfu
l ignorance—and thus obviating the need to eliminate them—was clearly the better option. But still . . .
"It was just a thought," Lithgow said. "Not a very good one, maybe, but a thought."
"I know." Ringstorff sighed. "It probably would have helped if the home office hadn't ordered me to let them play, for that matter."
"I think the geniuses who dreamed up this entire op probably figured there was no point even trying to keep the Four Yahoos from getting back up to their old tricks," Lithgow muttered. "And they were right. It'd make more sense to try to arm-wrestle entropy!"
"You're probably right," Ringstorff agreed. "I think HQ may have thought they could keep them on a leash initially, but after that transport blundered right into us—"
He threw both hands into the air with a grimace of disgust.
"It wasn't like we really had a choice with that one," Lithgow rejoined.
"I know. I know!" Ringstorff said irritably. "But you know as well as I do that that's what really started this entire mess."
Lithgow nodded. The original plan had been for the depot ship and all four of the converted cruisers to remain very quietly on station here in Tiberian until and unless they were required elsewhere. Unfortunately, there'd been some serious slippage in other parts of the schedule, and after four T-months of sitting here doing absolutely nothing, the cruisers' crews of Silesian outlaws had been so bored that Ringstorff had authorized a series of maneuvers and war games to let them play with and familiarize themselves with the capabilities of their vessels. It had made plenty of sense from a readiness viewpoint, after all, and the pirate captains and crews Manpower had recruited for the operation had been delighted by the sophistication of their ships. Most of their ilk had to make do with, at best, castoffs and obsolete units of the Confederacy Navy. The opportunity to trade in their old junkers and replace them with Solarian League technology that was no more than a few T-years out of date was one of the main reasons they'd signed on with Manpower in the first place.
