When the Tide Rises

by David Drake

  Are the remaining internal partitions tight? We’d better learn before we make a water landing.

  There must be fifty people out on the hull. Both rigging watches were there as a matter of course, but in addition to the midshipmen every Power Room tech with a hard suit was helping to cut away the wreckage. The Sissie’d escaped without hull damage, but every spacer knew that a dreadnought battle was no place for a corvette which had to move at a waddle.

  Though—when Daniel glanced again at the PPI, it seemed to him that the battle was over. The cruiser Vineta was maneuvering to pick up survivors of the Pleasaunce. There wouldn’t be many even if the crew’d donned suits before the action, but perhaps a hundred of the thousand or more might survive if they could be gathered aboard another ship while their air supply lasted.

  The Alliance left wing, the Formentera with the light cruisers Durston and Waechter, were headed toward open space, shaking out their rigs in preparation for inserting into the Matrix. They didn’t launch missiles because the remains of the right wing screened the RCN battleships.

  It crossed Daniel’s mind that the Formentera and her escorts might reappear and turn the battle around by attacking from an unsuspected angle . . . but that was how he thought. It was unlikely that an Alliance captain who’d just watched his sister ship being blown to vapor along with the admiral commanding would be planning attacks on an enemy of twice his force.

  The Zeno and Lao-tze had launched a second salvo, this time targeting the heavy cruisers Hertha and Viceroy Adelbert. Daniel was relieved to see that the older battleship got off only twenty-nine missiles this time. He had as high an opinion of the RCN’s professionalism as any man alive, but if the Lao-tze’s launch had been perfect again, he’d have to believe that Captain Stickel was in league with the Devil.

  The two cruisers were accelerating in their original directions of travel. Because both had been going away from the Barnyard element—they’d come out of the Matrix on reciprocal courses to that of the flagship—they’d be able to reinsert before the missiles reached them.

  The Vineta was preparing to insert also. Her captain’s instinct to help a fallen comrade had put the expanding cloud of the Pleasaunce between her and the RCN battleships, so the incoming salvos weren’t directed at her. A heavy cruiser shouldn’t have been worrying about rescue in the middle of a battle, but in this case mistaken compassion had saved the lives of her whole crew.

  The Zeno began firing the cannon in her four forward turrets at the Hertha and Viceroy Adelbert. The surviving Alliance vessels hadn’t launched missiles before turning to flight, so the battleship’s weapons weren’t needed for self-defense.

  The distance was too great for bolts to do damage, but they’d make it difficult for the cruisers to insert. Even if the targets were outside the core of the flux, the sprays of ions unbalanced the ships’ surface charge. The Lao-tze added her gunfire to the Zeno’s, either responding to command or simply picking up on her consort’s good idea.

  The destroyers which’d been picketing Diamondia chose this moment to extract. Presumably they’d intended to join the left wing, but in the event only the T72 was where it should have been. The T65 appeared closer to the Alcubiere than to the position of the left wing before the Alliance vessels began running.

  Daniel thought the Alcubiere was derelict. To his amazement and delight, she slammed a pair of 6-inch plasma bolts into the T65’s belly, blasting both outriggers and the High Drive motors. The destroyer immediately began blatting her surrender on the 20-meter and microwave bands. Her fellow slipped into the Matrix with the remainder of the left wing and the Vineta.

  The Hertha and Viceroy Adelbert disintegrated under more hits than Daniel could count even when he slowed down the action. It was like watching ships of sand when the tide swept in.

  Daniel took a deep breath and let it out. He felt his muscles begin to relax for the first time since Admiral James had transmitted course data to the Foxhunt element.

  “Ship,” he said, though more than half the crew was on the hull at the moment where they couldn’t hear him. “This is Six. Well done, fellow Sissies. Bloody well done! Six out.”

  On the hull montage, Daniel saw two riggers twist a length of spar out of the sail it was holding stretched against the hull. To his surprise they dropped the tubing to the side instead of cutting it free and launching it into space.

  The imaging head rotated to a different lens; Daniel switched it back manually to watch the riggers kneel. When they rose, they were lifting a figure in a hard suit. The silver-painted right arm meant it was Vesey. They started for the forward airlock, one of them gesturing in sign language to alert their watch commander.

  Daniel licked his dry lips and brought up a navigation display. Shortly he’d plot a course to the wreck of the Direktor Heinrich. The Princess Cecile sailed like a barge just now, but it wasn’t far to go. They’d save who they could from the crew of the cruiser they’d destroyed.

  First, though, they’d pick up Matthews and Cazelet. That pair had gone a long way toward winning the battle. . . .

  Epilogue

  A cross made from two huge stones topped the crag on which Adele stood with Lieutenant Vesey; each slab must weigh more than twenty tons. The structure was artificial, but it surely predated the human colonization two hundred years earlier. Scaly vegetation grew like orange-brown-cream paint on its south face.

  Adele reached for her personal data unit but then quickly snatched her hand away. The megaliths of Diamondia weren’t the reason she’d had Tovera set her and Vesey down here. The aircar waited for them on a plateau half a mile away—in sight, but well out of hearing.

  Vesey hadn’t spoken during the flight from the emergency hospital, a high school into which Medicomps and trained personnel from the larger warships had been moved. She remained silent as she looked down on Port Delacroix and beyond. The water in the Inner Harbor was pale green. In the Outer Harbor it was dark blue, and the open sea was sullen gray.

  Adele followed the lieutenant’s eyes, then frowned. Rather—again—than taking out her data unit, she seated herself on a slab of basalt and said, “Where are the Alcubiere and Antigone? I didn’t think they’d been destroyed in the fighting.”

  Vesey glanced at her and managed a faint smile. Before answering, she sat a little more than arm’s length away. Though she moved very carefully, the burns to her right arm and the bone bruises to both femurs were healing. Adele’d checked Vesey’s medical records—of course—but she knew from personal experience that someone who a computer said was completely recovered might feel pain stab where the bullet’d struck six months previously.

  “The Antigone may well be a constructive loss like the Express,” Vesey said. “She’s in orbit now, but it may make better economic sense to salvage her fittings and scrap her here on Diamondia.”

  Her voice was soft but without any music. Like Vesey’s hair and her figure, it was plain. She had a fine mind, though, a mind that both Adele and Daniel could respect.

  “The Alcubiere’s going to be repaired,” Vesey continued. “On Cinnabar, of course. But she’s lost half her plasma thrusters so it’d have been too dangerous to land her now. She’s being jury-rigged in orbit, and Admiral James sent up thrusters for the crew to install during the voyage home.”

  A plasma bolt had blown a starboard topsail yard across the back of the Princess Cecile, trailing a shroud which’d struck Vesey at mid-thigh and slammed her to the hull. That’d saved her life, because except for her right arm she’d been under the topsail when the next three bolts hit.

  Adele thought of returning to Cinnabar a year before in the captured Scheer, renamed the Milton. Very deliberately she said, “I don’t suppose Captain Bussom would appreciate Daniel giving him pointers in how to sail long distances in a jury-rigged heavy cruiser, would he?”

  Vesey stared at her wide-eyed, then realized Adele was making a joke. She snorted a tiny laugh, probably as much at Adele’s perfect deadpan as from
thinking about Captain Bussom’s reaction to getting shiphandling advice from a junior commander.

  “No, mistress,” she said. “I don’t think I’d recommend that Six do that.”

  They both looked down at Port Delacroix for a moment. The buildings were largely built from blocks of porous volcanic tuff. The gray stone had been whitewashed. It’d be dazzling later in the day, but now in the early morning the half-bowl of hills into which the town and harbors nestled blocked the direct sun. The roofs were brown tile, golden when lighted but at present drab.

  Besides the losses and the missing cruisers, two destroyers were in orbit on picket duty. Even so the Inner Harbor was full of ships, prizes which’d surrendered rather than be destroyed along with the base on Z3 after the battle. Only one of the seventeen was of any size, a 3,000-tonne freighter which’d arrived the day before with resupply. The rest were light craft which’d been sent to the Jewel System to grind through the planetary defense array.

  None of the vessels was of remarkable value by itself, but altogether they’d eventually constitute a pretty trissie in prize money. The amount would be divided among the crews of two battleships and assorted lesser craft, with the Admiral Commanding getting an eighth; nonetheless it’d take even common spacers several days to drink up their portions.

  “I don’t think anyone objects to Admiral James’ share,” Adele said, voicing her thoughts. “His plan was very effective, though it was hard on Foxhunt.”

  “That’s how it worked out this time,” Vesey agreed. She didn’t turn to face Adele. “But somebody had to hold the Alliance’s attention while the admiral got his battleships into position.”

  She shook her head very slightly. “We’re RCN, after all. We all understood that when we took the oath.”

  “Yes,” said Adele. Using the same precision as she’d employ when aligning her sights, she said, “And do you also understand that Daniel needs you, Lieutenant?”

  Vesey’d been leaning forward slightly. She jerked upright and almost slid off the slab of rock. It sloped enough that the seat of her utilities didn’t grip well enough to withstand violent motion. She looked at Adele with a mixture of anger and hurt, but she didn’t reply.

  “Well, do you understand?” Adele said.

  “Nobody needs me!” Vesey said. “Do you think that isn’t obvious? I didn’t expect you to bring me up here to lie to me, mistress!”

  Adele nodded, pleased to have gotten a reaction. What she’d been really afraid of was that Vesey had shut down completely, because then there wouldn’t have been any hope.

  “You’re right,” she said calmly, “I misstated the matter. What I should have said was that Daniel needs someone whom he can trust for astrogation and shiphandling. He doesn’t need someone to fight the ship, of course; he’ll do that himself until the day he dies, and I shouldn’t wonder if he managed to stay alive regardless till he’s seen off whatever enemy he’s facing. Can you agree with that statement of facts, Lieutenant?”

  Vesey licked her lips. She sat on the rock again, bracing herself with her hands, to give herself time to frame a response. “Yes, mistress,” she said warily.

  “He says you’re the best astrogator he knows besides himself,” Adele continued. “Further, that your shiphandling’s good and getting better. Again, do you accept that I’m telling the truth? About Daniel’s opinion, that is; you don’t have to accept that as correct.”

  Vesey nodded but lowered her eyes. “I’m honored by Mister Leary’s good opinion,” she said. “I . . . my shiphandling needs a great deal of work.”

  “Perhaps,” said Adele with a dismissive sniff. “Regardless, it’s clear to me that Daniel considers you the ideal First Lieutenant for him. I grant that you might not be as well suited to a captain who’d find your skill intimidating.”

  “Me intimidating?” Vesey murmured, but her smile was an honest one. It faded and she said in the direction of the port, “Mistress Mundy, I really appreciate what you’re doing, but it seems so pointless.”

  “Unlike Daniel, I don’t need anyone at all,” Adele said as though she were ignoring the comment. “Not Daniel, not Tovera.”

  She turned a hard smile toward Vesey. The lieutenant watched her sidelong.

  “I certainly don’t need you, Vesey,” Adele said. “If all the people I’ve ever met suddenly vanished, I could go back to the Library of Celsus and spend the rest of my life doing research. I could make myself a little nest there, like a rat in the insulation between the hulls. The only catch is—”

  She smiled again. She knew from having seen herself in mirrored surfaces in the past that you could sharpen a knife on her expression.

  “—that’d I’d be dead. Dead as a human being, that is. And having spent much of my life dead in just that fashion—”

  She paused, furrowing her brow with a real question. “In fact,” she said, “I think that I was dead for all my life until I met Lieutenant Leary on Kostroma. Having done that, as I say, I’ve decided that it’s better to be alive until it’s time to be buried.”

  Vesey started to smile. Her expression hardened and she turned her head toward Adele again. “Mistress,” she said harshly. “You don’t care at all about Rene, do you? Master Cazelet, if you prefer.”

  “I most certainly do care for Rene,” Adele said. “I’m responsible for him to Mistress Boileau, to whom I owe—”

  She shrugged. “Whatever you please. My life, which doesn’t matter. My education, my honor, my self-respect—everything that’s important to me as a Mundy and a scholar and a human being.”

  She allowed the humor of the situation to show in her expression. “Now,” she said, “if you mean that I don’t have the least romantic passion for Rene, of course I don’t. I don’t have the least romantic passion about anybody. In particular—”

  Adele stopped. “Look at me, if you please, Lieutenant,” she said sharply.

  Vesey jerked her head up and reflexively stiffened as though coming to attention. Pain drove out a gasp, quickly silenced. “Mistress,” she said obediently.

  “In particular,” Adele continued as though nothing had happened, “I don’t feel any romantic passion for Daniel. But if the word ‘love’ has any meaning in human affairs, I love him.”

  “I thought . . .” Vesey said. She turned her head away, clearly unaware of what she was doing. “Rene’s smart and quick, and he knows so much already. Oh, not astrogation the way I do; but more about life, mistress, more than I ever will. And I thought . . .”

  She put her face in her hands. “But I couldn’t be you, and no one else matters to Rene!” she said through sudden tears.

  Adele wondered if Daniel would’ve known better what to do. He must’ve had a great deal of experience with crying women, though Adele suspected he was the sort to bolt for the nearest door.

  Whereas the late Timothy Dorst would’ve put his arms around Vesey and told her he loved her; which he doubtless had in a dim but very manly fashion. Well, that wasn’t helpful in the present circumstances either.

  Presumably Vesey would regain control of herself. Letting her cry until she did so seemed as good a plan as any. Adele turned her eyes toward the activity in the harbor.

  She smiled faintly. The visor of her commo helmet would’ve allowed her to magnify the scene, but she hadn’t considered using it. What she had started to do was use her personal data unit to enter the command console of one of the starships below—the Princess Cecile was the obvious choice, but she could pick the flagship—and view the harbor through the ship’s external optics.

  Surface craft shuttled back and forth across the Inner Harbor. One was a repair boat and there were two government barges, but most of them were bumboats which Admiral James had pressed into service to haul spars, sails, thrusters, and High Drive motors from Alliance prizes to RCN vessels which needed repair.

  As Adele watched, a quartet of houseboats which usually sold oranges, pork sausage, and sex to spacers on board their ships crawled toward
the destroyer Exmouth. Barely awash between them was what must’ve been a main antenna from the captured freighter. The destroyers on picket duty changed every six hours. When they did, the relief vessels lashed stores for the Alcubiere to their outriggers.

  The Princess Cecile was, according to Daniel, ready to lift as soon as Admiral James gave clearance. Under Pasternak’s direction the crew’d put a temporary patch of structural plastic on her port outrigger instead replacing the whole unit here on Diamondia. She now wore spars and sails stripped from an Alliance minesweeper and had taken a High Drive motor as well.

  Vesey fumbled in her hip pocket for a handkerchief. Sniffles had replaced her sobs.

  Adele waited for her to blow her nose; then, still looking down into the harbor, she resumed, “Vesey, I’ve learned that there’s no end of new and different ways for me to fail. I shouldn’t wonder if the last thing I do in life is make another mistake. Given the kind of work you and I do—”

  She turned to Vesey and smiled as broadly as she ever did. That wasn’t, of course, very broadly.

  “—it’s not unlikely that we’ll be dying because we made a mistake. Still, we’re both very good at our jobs. The RCN will regret losing us.”

  A bell somewhere in the town began ringing. Is it religious, or does it have something to do with today’s festival?

  Adele had gotten the data unit halfway out of its special thigh pocket this time because she’d been concentrating on this stressful business with Vesey. Sometimes her reflexes got in the way.

  Still, she hadn’t drawn her pistol.

  Adele would much rather have been in a gunfight than holding this conversation, but it was part of the job she did for Daniel and the RCN. Nobody had told her so, but she was Mundy of Chatsworth: nobody needs to tell a Mundy her duty.

  “Mistress . . .” Vesey said. She stopped, apparently because she didn’t know how to go on. That saved Adele from having to interrupt her.

  “Something that the RCN didn’t have to teach me, Lieutenant,” Adele said, “is that you don’t quit. Quitting would dishonor your family. My present family is the Princess Cecile and beyond it the RCN. Not long ago I came closer than I care to remember to quitting.”