"Thank you, sir," Bondi said. "I'm sorry I brought it up."
"No, it's a reasonable question. And it's not something to joke about, especially not now."
"No, sir. My apologies, sir, and Pete—I'm really sorry. I didn't mean to torque you at a time like this. Misplaced sense of humor."
"It's all right." But to Esmay the apology seemed a bit glib, and Bondi's color was still higher than usual.
"Let me show you the ship," Livadhi said. "You can meet the personnel you'll be communicating with—and for those of you who haven't had cruiser duty, here's a chance to familiarize yourselves—"
Livadhi started at the bottom, perhaps to give tempers and tensions time to dissipate as they clattered down the many ladders. Esmay admired this way of handling a difficult interaction; riding down in the officers' lift they would have been immobile and staring at one another's backs or the grill. Environmental first, then up to Engineering, where almost the first person they saw was Petris Kenvinnard, who recognized Esmay.
"Lieutenant Suiza—good to see you again."
"You know Suiza?" Livadhi asked.
"Yes, sir; we've met before. She's one of my—Heris's—favorite young officers."
"With reason, no doubt," Livadhi murmured. "Lieutenant, you've had cruiser duty; if you'd like to stop and chat with Mr. Kenvinnard—"
"Don't let me slow you down, Lieutenant. But I heard you'd gotten Rascal—congratulations. Tell Rudy—Master Chief Humberly—I said hello."
"Thanks," Esmay said. "And I will." She went on, cheered more than she would have liked to admit to know Heris Serrano's good opinion of her from someone else. Heris had stood up for her at the family gathering, but this was proof of a longer-standing opinion.
When they came to the great generators that powered the beam weapons, and Livadhi rattled off the specs, Esmay realized again just how big an upgrade Rascal had. Vigilance still had more firepower, but the gap had narrowed appreciably. She trailed behind, trying to calculate exactly the size of the remaining gap.
"Lieutenant Suiza!" That was Methlin Meharry, another of Heris Serrano's "old" crew. "I hear you shook 'em up, the Serranos."
"Rumor flies," Esmay said. "I hope it's settled now."
"Nothing's ever settled for good," Meharry said, falling in step beside her. "Did you hear about my baby brother?"
"I didn't know you had a baby brother." Esmay would have expected Meharry to have been hatched from some piece of ordnance, except for the impossibility. She could imagine a string of identical Meharrys, but not one that could be called "baby" in any form.
"He was stationed at the high security brig, on Copper Mountain. Same one where Lepescu stuck me an' the others." She shook her head. "Idiot fool. I s'pose he wanted to see if he could understand his big sister better. Anyway, he figured out that bitch Bacarion was up to no good, and he killed her, and escaped—and nobody escapes that place, I still don't know how he did it, he's gonna have to tell me all the details—an' then he told them about the mutiny. Too late; it was starting, but he tried. Little scamp."
"He's your brother," was all Esmay could think to say.
"Yah. He is. Meharry all the way through." She grinned. "I am really, really proud of that kid, but I better not let him find out, or he'll get sassy with me." She nodded, then, to the end of the passage, where the others had disappeared around a corner. "Better catch up, Lieutenant. Don't forget to say hello to Koutsoudas if he's on the bridge."
Esmay lengthened her stride, but was delayed again by Oblo Vissisuan, coming down the ladder.
"Hoped I'd catch you, Lieutenant, just to say congratulations on your new command and your marriage."
"Thanks," Esmay said.
"That's a really tidy weapons upgrade you've got on Rascal," he went on. "I went over and took a look when she got in. And by the stats, she handles well, too."
"She does," Esmay said.
"Though nothing like Vigilance," Oblo added. "I hear you got your supply problems straightened out—you know, Lieutenant, if you ever have a problem, maybe I could give you a hand. Nothin' against your supply officer, but Heris—Commander Serrano—she says I have a real talent—"
Esmay had heard Oblo's talent for obtaining the unobtainable described as something else, but she knew it was valuable. "Thank you—I think we're fine now, but if I run into trouble—"
"You just give me a call. Any friend of our—of Commander Serrano's—is a friend of ours. And a member of the family, I guess I should say."
"I don't suppose you know why Barin's on Copper Mountain, do you? I found him on the database."
"They didn't tell you about that? Hell, Lieutenant, he damn near died in the explosion—no! It's all right, he's out of the hospital; he'll be fine when he gets his strength back. I got that from a friend on the admiral's staff. I'd've thought they'd tell you, you bein' his wife and all."
Esmay could have clobbered him for scaring her like that—her heart had seemed to stop for an instant—but clobbering Oblo would be like clobbering a draft horse. It wouldn't hurt him, and he might hit back.
"I'd better catch up," she said instead, and fled up the ladder, working off her fear and anger with every step.
She caught up with the others; no one commented on her absence, and she hoped it hadn't been noticed. They moved on in stately procession through section after section, and finally came to the bridge. Here, docked at the Station, only a skeleton crew manned the bridge. Esmay looked around, but did not see Koutsoudas.
When she got back to Rascal, she called up whatever she could find about Barin's ship and its combat. Nothing useful, except that it was listed as out of action. Not destroyed, just out of action.
The next day, Admiral Serrano hosted the farewell gathering. Esmay wore one of her new dress uniforms, astonished all over again by the difference in fit. It looked as if she'd been sewn into it and yet it was comfortable and didn't hinder her movement. She joined the line of officers that snaked in to shake hands with Vida Serrano. For a moment, her stomach churned as she saw the admiral's glance pass over her, but the thought of her ship steadied her. She was here; she was a captain; Rascal was a ship to be proud of.
When her turn came, Vida greeted her with a smile. "Lieutenant—I see you found a really good tailor. Congratulations on your return, and on your scores from the exercise. I'm expecting you to live up to your reputation."
"Thank you, sir." Esmay moved on, bemused and wondering which part of her reputation the admiral expected her to live up to.
Later, as she contemplated a towering display of canapes, and considered whether the little brown things with a green fringe or the green paste on crackers would sit best, she realized Admiral Serrano had come up beside her.
"I'm sure you realize by now that I'm not the one who cashiered you—" The admiral took two of the brown things, and one of the crackers.
"Yes, sir; they told me."
"This is not something we want to discuss now, but let me just say that I am genuinely glad to have you back on active duty and a member of the family."
"Thank you, sir."
"Those things on the second tier are deep-fried gengineered locusts with frillik; if I understood your father correctly, it's something you're not supposed to eat."
"No, sir. What about the green paste?"
"Puree of Caskadar neosquid liver with dill. Something else you're not supposed to eat."
"Yes, sir." There was something bizarre about an admiral advising her on the food laws she'd grown up with as applied to alien cuisine.
"The devilled quails' eggs, on the other hand, should be all right."
"Is that what they are?" Esmay had not recognized the elaborate little sculptures as originating with eggs.
"Yes . . . it's this strange little man in food service. I've had him for years, but have never convinced him to let anything look like what it is." She gave Esmay a mischievous sidelong look. "In my wicked moments, I enjoy watching ensigns trying to figure it out, and th
en choking when they find out what they've just consumed. A low pleasure, I admit."
Esmay said nothing, since her mouth was full of devilled quails' eggs.
"What do you think of Commodore Livadhi?" Admiral Serrano asked, having waited politely for the swallow.
Esmay felt like a quail beneath a stooping falcon. "Well, Admiral, he's . . . he's—" An admiral, and lieutenants who wanted to avoid causing trouble didn't gossip to one admiral about another.
"I know, it's unfair. What I really want to know, if you have a clue, is how my great-niece's crew is getting along with him. They can be a handful, and there's no way I can talk to them without stepping on his toes."
"He had us to dinner," Esmay said. "I happened to see a few of them that I recognized. Petris, Meharry, Oblo—"
"Just the trio that concerned me," Admiral Serrano said. "I doubt it was happenstance you saw them. How did they seem?"
"Fine, sir. They congratulated me on getting a ship—" And on her marriage, but this didn't seem like a good moment to mention that. "Meharry told me about her younger brother—" The term baby brother was not one to be used with admirals. "And Oblo told me Barin had been wounded." She couldn't keep a sharp note out of her voice at that.
Admiral Serrano closed her eyes a moment. "Damn! I should have thought—it was while you were out of touch and we didn't know where you were, and then I just assumed you'd hear about it at Headquarters. I'm sorry—I should have made sure you knew. His ship sustained a hull breach; he was working damage control, and there was an explosion—it's a long story; I'll flash it over to your console later tonight. Anyway, he was badly injured; we were all worried until they got him to Copper Mountain. The latest report is that he's come through treatment well and is in rehab now. Expected to make a full recovery. He's been written up for an award. If you want to send him a message, flash it to my office before you leave tomorrow; I'll forward it priority."
"Thank you, sir," Esmay said.
"I'm just sorry I didn't think to tell you myself before now. But I'd better go circulate, or Arash will wonder why I'm chatting you up. He did a good job while he was running this place, but he's just a wee bit sensitive. Old family rivalry, probably." Admiral Serrano moved away, to startle another young officer, Esmay noticed, when she eased up beside him.
Esmay ate two more devilled quails' eggs, allowing herself to feel relief that Barin was no longer in danger.
"Ah, Lieutenant Suiza," That was Commodore Livadhi. "This is certainly more elaborate than my dinner." Was there an edge to that? She couldn't be sure.
"But not so . . ." She paused, trying to think of the best word.
"Comfortable, perhaps?" Comfortable was not the word she'd been thinking of, but one did not argue with admirals. He smiled down at her, and she was aware once more of his charm. "I saw that Admiral Serrano had buttonholed you, and came to the rescue—but I see you need no rescue."
"No, sir. The admiral—Admiral Serrano was just telling me that my—that Barin—her grandson—was safe and recovering well."
"Ah . . . of course. You've been in transit, and the full details aren't being made available." Livadhi took three of the gengineered locusts onto his plate and popped one into his mouth. Now that Esmay knew what they were, the little crunch as he bit into it struck her as obscene. She knew that was ridiculous. "I was just going to ask if you remembered more about that fellow—priest, I think you said?—from the Benignity."
Esmay dragged her mind away from the recitation of Barin is safe, Barin is safe to Livadhi's question. "The priest, sir? Mostly we talked about religion. He was curious about me, because he thought Altiplanans had a branch of his religion, and might have some old texts he could study."
"And do you?"
"Sir, I don't know. I left home as a youngster, really, and the history of our beliefs wasn't ever my interest. I told him he should contact the Docent for Altiplano, there on Castle Rock, who could tell him more."
"Mmm. Well, I'll see you at the final briefing." Livadhi walked off. Esmay looked after him with the feeling that she had missed something, perhaps disappointed him in some way.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Copper Mountain
"I hate these islands," Gelan Meharry said. "If I have to be stuck on a planet, it should at least be somewhere you can do something." He was standing hunch-shouldered in the courtyard; the winter sun slanted in, but a razor-edged wind took all the warmth from its rays.
"I wish someone would invent one of those transporter rays," Barin said. "Straight from this to a nice tropical island would be nice."
"You're right there, sir. But I've put my name in for ship duty. What about you?"
"Dunno yet. I'm still on a medical hold. If they hold it long enough, I might as well take my next required course while I'm here."
"I was kind of hoping, sir, we might end up on the same ship."
Barin gave him a quick look. "Oh? On the grounds that you already know the worst about me?"
"Something like that, yes, sir." Meharry's voice was placid, but his green eyes had a wicked glint. "My sister always said, if you find a Serrano you can stand, hook up with 'em."
"Oh," Barin said again, obscurely pleased. "Well, what kind of ship did you have in mind?"
They discussed the relative merits of the different classes until the transport came.
The flight to the weapons research facility was, despite the clear day, rough enough to make Barin wish he hadn't eaten breakfast. Here were no walls and towers, just low buildings on a flat windswept space. Barin noticed that all the windows had been broken out, and some replaced with clearfilm and tape. He could see the black scars of fires and other destruction. But bleak as it was, it wasn't as depressing as the prison island; he didn't mind that they'd spend the next few days here.
"Who is that?" Barin asked. The stout man in the funny-looking jacket and fuzzy hat that he'd noticed on the flight from the mainland stumped around the blackened soil where the aircraft had been.
"That's the professor." Meharry grinned. "He was there when they pulled me out of the water. I think he's crazy, the way geniuses usually are."
"He's a genius?"
"They all seem to think so."
"Well . . . the beard's right," Barin said.
"He's the reason Ensign Pardalt came along," Meharry said. "She was his bodyguard when he went out to keep the mutineers from taking over the lab. I heard he asked for her again."
"She didn't want to come when I asked her," Barin said.
The next morning, Barin came into the mess hall—its shattered windows now covered with clearfilm—and looked around. One table was all civilians, talking faster than they were eating. At another, the man in the yellow leather jacket—did he ever take it off?—was sitting next to Ensign Pardalt and leaning towards her.
Barin didn't like the look the professor gave Margiu. She didn't seem to mind it, but . . . she was young. Inexperienced. Geniuses probably thought they could do whatever they wanted, just because they were geniuses. He was determined not to make the mistake he'd made before, and fail to understand his people.
For a moment he remembered the annoying major on the ship he and Esmay had taken from the family reunion, but he pushed that aside. That had been different, if for nothing else than he and Esmay were the same age.
He went over and sat down beside Margiu. "Morning, Ensign."
"Good morning, sir."
"Young Serrano comes down like a wolf on the fold—or at least the spring lamb . . ." the professor said.
"Excuse me?" Barin suspected it was a quotation, but he didn't know the source.
"I only meant that you, like me, chose to sit beside the most ravishing young creature here."
"That's not why I—"
"Tut-tut, my boy. Never suggest anything less to a lady. Whatever your real motive, such as, perhaps, that she's got the only saltshaker on the table, it's only gallant to tell her you came in pursuit of her beauty."
"Profess
or—" Margiu looked embarrassed; Barin thought she should. What a wordy old flatterer the professor was, after all, and old enough to be her father. Even her grandfather.
"My dear, this is not about you. Unless Lieutenant Serrano thinks I'm a danger to your heart or your safety—" The professor looked at him, and Barin was suddenly aware of a very bright, very piercing glance from those gray eyes, a directness that reminded him of his grandmother. Then the professor looked down, and stabbed his waffle.
"I—thought Ensign Pardalt might not mind some—younger company."
"She might, if you were single," the professor said. "But rumor has it you're married. To Esmay Suiza, in fact. Or is rumor mistaken?"
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