And they were pretty good for me too, she thought, as they hurried down to the airlock. The tripod was already there, waiting for them. It’s almost a shame our time here has to end.
“Thank you for your stay,” the manager said. He was an oily little man who somehow gave the impression of wearing a suit and tie, even though he was as naked as his staff. “The remainder of your bill will be forwarded to you.”
George bit down on the response that came to mind. Most - perhaps all - of his normal clientele wouldn't notice a few tens of thousands of pounds going missing, one way or the other. They’d pay the bill without thinking about it. But she knew better than to waste her money paying bills she didn't have to pay. She’d take a good look at the bill, when it arrived, just to make sure they didn’t have a legitimate claim. And then she’d ignore it, secure in the knowledge they wouldn't try to force her to pay.
“Thank you,” she said, instead. “We enjoyed our stay.”
The interior of the tripod was nothing more than a small canopy, rather like an oversized starfighter. It lurched to life as soon as the airlock was sealed, disconnecting from the resort and heading across the dusty red landscape. George sat on one of the seats and stared out of the canopy, leaning against Barton as he wrapped his arm around her shoulder. There were patches of Red Weed - genetically-engineered plants designed to boost the oxygen levels in the air - everywhere, but otherwise there were few signs of the terraforming effort. Mars still looked remorselessly alien.
“There are people engineered to live outside the domes,” she mused, as the tripod picked up speed, hurrying across the red landscape with a rollicking gait that reminded her of her first pony. “What will happen to them as the oxygen levels rise towards Earth-norm?”
“They’re supposed to be engineered to survive on Earth,” Barton said. “But I don’t know how well it will work in practice when the oxygen levels get higher.”
George leaned into his arm and forced herself to relax, watching a pair of shuttles screaming through the air and heading towards the spaceport. They couldn't do anything intimate as soon as they reached their destination, not when there would be hundreds of other naval personnel around. The thought hurt, more than she cared to admit, but it wasn't as if they were going anywhere anyway. They had just set out to have fun in a patch of unreality ...
... And now they were returning to the real world.
“Peter,” she said, slowly. “We have to talk.”
She sensed his body stiffen and deliberately pulled away, knowing she didn't dare push any closer. “What we did - what we did here - it has to stay here.”
Barton met her eyes as she turned to look at him. “Because you’re an officer and I’m not.”
He didn't sound accusing. George couldn't help thinking that that didn't make her feel any better. She would almost have preferred to have him shouting at her.
“Yes,” she said. She remembered his touch on her - in her - and flushed. No one would have cared, if they’d been civilians, but they weren't civilians. “It will destroy our careers if anyone finds out about it.”
“And that Fraser may use it against you,” Barton said. “He doesn't like you, does he?”
George shrugged. Fraser - formerly the First Middy - and she had been getting on a great deal better since his promotion, but he was still supervising her career. She wasn't sure what he got out of it, unless it was an unspoken apology for the way he’d treated her when she’d joined the crew, yet she found it hard to care. Fraser might be a prickly asshole, but much of what he said was good advice.
“It doesn't matter,” she said. “What does matter is that everything we did together has to remain strictly between ourselves.”
“I do understand,” Barton said. He rose slowly and moved backwards, letting go of her completely. “And if you want to share the next shore leave ...”
“Assuming we survive the coming deployment,” George said. She hadn't heard anything, but it didn't take a genius to work out that the Royal Navy was preparing for war. “If we do, I would be honoured to share it with you.”
Barton leaned forward and gave her a quick kiss, then made a show of settling down at the other side of the cab. George turned to stare out over the landscape, blinking away tears she knew she shouldn't be crying. They didn't have anything, they couldn't have anything ... they were just two adults, enjoying each other’s company. But it still hurt.
They said nothing as they arrived at the spaceport and boarded a shuttle back to the L4 shipyard. George took advantage of the long flight to take a nap, then catch up with her email. There was almost nothing important, save for a long message from one of her old academy chums telling her that he’d been assigned to HMS Impervious, a Theodore Smith-class fleet carrier and that he’d be shipping out in two days. George wondered, absently, if that made him a lucky bastard or not. The year of seniority he’d been granted for his role in the early engagements - along with herself and a number of other midshipmen - gave him a reasonable chance of being First Middy.
But he’ll be on a brand new ship, she thought. The XO might have other ideas.
She shook her head, then glanced at her wristcom. They’d be back on Vanguard within three hours ...
... And she just couldn't wait to be home.
Chapter Six
“Midshipwoman Fitzwilliam,” a familiar voice said. “Welcome back.”
George stiffened, then hastily saluted as she saw Lieutenant Charles Fraser standing by the airlock, looking grim. He was a big bruiser of a man - if anything, he was bigger than she remembered - wearing a lieutenant’s uniform like he was born to it. She couldn't believe she’d challenged him to a fight, or that he hadn't smashed her into a bloody mess. He returned her salute, then motioned for her to follow him down the passageway. She saw his face twist in disapproval as he saw Barton making his way out of the shuttle and sighed inwardly. Fraser might not be out to ruin her - not any longer - but he had good reason to be concerned.
He said nothing until they reached his cabin, a small space that was undoubtedly his. George couldn't resist looking around, even though she knew she should stay at attention until he released her. The bulkheads were covered with certificates - martial arts, squadron fighting awards - and a large photograph of a younger Fraser with two people she assumed were his parents. Fraser had been more accomplished than she’d known, she realised. He’d definitely gone easy on her during their bout.
“You were with him,” he said, flatly. “Weren't you?”
George was tempted to lie, but there was no point. “Yes, sir.”
“I suggest that you make sure that you have nothing to do with him that isn’t strictly professional,” Fraser said. His tone made it clear that it was an order. “Your career could wind up in the crapper if someone puts two and two together.”
“Yes, sir,” George said. She considered, briefly, pointing out that Fraser was no longer First Middy, then abandoned the suicidal thought. “I have already made it clear to him.”
“That’s good to hear,” Fraser grunted. He sat down on the bunk and waved her to the sole chair. “Stand at ease, Middy, and sit down.”
“Yes, sir,” George said. She didn't relax. Fraser and she might have come to an understanding, but it was hard to relax around him. “You have a very nice cabin.”
Fraser’s lips twisted. “And you have turned into a liar,” he said. “And not a very good liar at that.”
George shrugged. Fraser’s cabin would have vanished without trace on her father’s estate, but compared to the middy bunkroom it was paradise incarnate. Fraser actually had some privacy! No one who’d shared a wardroom with eight or so sweaty midshipmen would turn up his nose at such a cabin, regardless of its size. The private washroom alone was sheer heaven. And she would have been surprised if he didn't get a bigger water ration as a lieutenant.
“Still, we’re not here to discuss your fragile grip on the truth,” Fraser added. “I have been ... asked ... to invo
lve myself in supervising the midshipmen, reporting directly to the XO. This is, as you can imagine, an awkward situation.”
“Oh,” George said. “That’s ... bad.”
She felt a flicker of sympathy, both for him and the new First Middy. It was an awkward situation. Technically, she’d been the last First Middy ... although, given that there hadn't been any other midshipmen, the title had been a little pointless. But the First Middy was supposed to have a free hand in the wardroom. His predecessor was certainly not supposed to be looking over his shoulder.
“One trusts it can be handled without aggro,” Fraser added, dryly. “I don’t think the XO will be very pleased if he has to involve himself in the affairs of the wardroom.”
“No, sir,” George said, wondering why he was talking to her. She was his only subordinate officer, arguably, but that wouldn't last. And they’d never been close friends before his promotion. “It would be very bad for us.”
“Yeah,” Fraser agreed. His lip twisted, sourly. “Particularly as you will be First Middy.”
George blinked. “I am? I mean ... I will be?”
“Yes,” Fraser said. He picked a datapad from his desk and passed it to her. “Manpower, as you are perfectly aware, is quite limited. We’re receiving four midshipmen: two transferring from other ships, two being shipped directly from the Academy. And, thanks to the year’s seniority you were given, you are the senior midshipman.”
He smiled. “Congratulations, First Middy.”
George thought rapidly. She wasn't very senior at all - she’d had about seven months as a midshipman - but her seniority had been boosted. And she was the sole experienced midshipman left on Vanguard, the only one who was already familiar with the ship and her crew. Still ... nineteen months, give or take a few days. There were midshipmen who had - should have had - two or three years on her before their careers started to stagnate. She couldn't help thinking that there was trouble ahead.
“You’re sure about this?” She asked. “Really?”
“I do know how to count the years,” Fraser said, dryly. “And you’re meant to call me sir when you’re speaking to me.”
George coloured. “Sorry, sir.”
“That’s better,” Fraser said. He cleared his throat. “Midshipman Simon Potter is only a couple of days short of being First Middy himself, so you should probably keep an eye on him. The last thing you need is to be beached for a week with an ambitious toad in the background. His record is suspiciously blank, which worries me. Chances are his commander let him go without a fight for reasons that were never written down.”
“I see,” George said. “How do you know that, sir?”
“Long experience,” Fraser said. “Potter is, in theory, on the fast-track to promotion. But if his CO let him go, there’s something wrong with him that was never written into his file.”
George scowled. There were files - and subsections of files - that neither she nor Fraser could access. If something had been written down there, she wouldn't be able to see it, unless she convinced a senior officer to allow her access. And merely making the request would be enough to get her in trouble, unless she came up with a very convincing reason.
“Maybe he has a powerful family, sir,” she mused. “Does he?”
“Not as far as I can tell,” Fraser said. “But you’d know more about that than I would.”
“Yes, sir,” George said. He was right. The world of the aristocracy was larger than most people imagined, but she knew - either personally or by reputation - everyone in the same age bracket as herself. She’d never heard of a Simon Potter. “It could be a false name, I suppose.”
“Perhaps,” Fraser said. He gave her a nasty, sharp-edged smile. “But he’s your problem now, First Middy.”
George felt her scowl deepen. She could ask for advice, if she wished, but it would be taken as a sign of weakness. Fraser might not report her to the XO - she had no idea how he’d react - yet she knew it would be held against her. And, oddly, she found that she wanted his respect. Winning him over would be a coup in its own right.
“The other experienced midshipman - midshipwoman - is Paula Spurgeon,” Fraser explained, after a long moment. “Her file is rather interesting, with just enough written down to convince me that there’s something else hidden in the classified sections. From what I have been able to glean from the open sections, she was beached for two years after an ... incident ... on HMS Queen Elizabeth. I’m honestly surprised she didn't resign, given that much of a beaching. Her chances of promotion have to be non-existent.”
“And it would take years to rebuild her seniority, sir,” George mused. She couldn’t help wondering if Fraser felt any sympathy for the older woman. “She might live and die a midshipwoman.”
“Probably,” Fraser agreed. “You should keep an eye on her too. She might well be bitter and resentful - and we have no idea what actually happened on Queen Liz. It’s possible she might have had an illegitimate affair” - he gave George a sharp look - “or it could be something a great deal more serious.”
“Perhaps she rammed an asteroid, sir,” George said. Fraser’s comments were hitting a little too close to home. “Or maybe she forgot to wear her dress uniform when the admiral was inspecting the ship.”
“Ramming an asteroid would be a remarkable feat,” Fraser pointed out, rather dryly. “And I can't see them letting her stay in the navy afterwards, even if she avoided court martial.”
He cleared his throat. “The two newcomers are Clayton Henderson and Felicity Wheeler,” he added. “Unsurprisingly, there’s very little in their files; they passed through the Academy without attracting many comments, positive or negative, from their tutors. Henderson had quite a low ranking in his senior years, but someone has to be on the lower end of the scale.”
George grimaced. If she was ever put in command of the Academy, she intended to make sure that the tutors didn’t grade on a curve. Fraser was right. Someone had to be at the lower end of the scale - and that person might be heads and shoulders ahead of a civilian who couldn't pass the tests necessary to gain admittance to the Academy. A person smarter than her, during a particularly bad year, might gain a reputation for stupidity that was thoroughly undeserved.
“You said they didn't have many comments, sir,” she mused. “What did they say?”
“Nothing of great interest,” Fraser said. “They would have passed their evaluations or they would never have been permitted to graduate, but ...”
He shrugged. “They’re due to board tomorrow, whereupon you will greet them to the ship and show them around,” he added. “And, as First Middy, you get the honour of working out the timetables. I’m afraid they’ll have to hit the deck running.”
George took the datapad, forcing herself to think. The midshipmen would have to be assigned to the different departments, then rotated around ... they’d have to get their certifications before they could be trusted to take watch duty or command a small detachment ... it was going to be a major headache. She didn't know how Fraser had done it, but she could guess. He'd only had to deal with one or two newcomers at a time, relying on the other midshipmen to handle themselves without constant supervision. She had four newcomers ...
... And their conduct would reflect upon her.
“Give them a day to orientate themselves,” Fraser advised, as she began to work. “And then assign them to the departments most in need of extra manpower.”
He frowned. “I’d check with tactical and helm, if I were you,” he added. “They both need additional staff, but they might not have time to train up complete newcomers. Potter and Spurgeon both have excellent tactical ratings, so they might be assigned there without causing any problems that will make you look bad.”
“Thanks, sir,” George said, sourly.
Fraser gave her a brilliant smile. “You’re welcome.”
George worked her way through the timetable, then looked up at him. “Do you have any other words of advice?”
&n
bsp; “Two,” Fraser said. “First, remember that you are in charge, You’re not their friend, you’re not their comrade, you’re not their den mother. You’re the First Middy and you’re expected to act as though you are in charge. A hint of weakness at the wrong time and the knives will come out.”
“You make it sound as though they are animals, sir,” George protested.
Fraser lifted his eyebrows. “And you never thought I was an animal?”
George felt her cheeks heat, but said nothing.
“You know as well as I do that competition for promotion is intense,” Fraser added, after a long moment. “And you do not have the advantage of spending two years in uniform, gaining experience before you take on true responsibility. Two of your subordinates are well-positioned to take advantage of any problems you have, while the other two are unlikely to see you as a superior officer. You must take control right from the start and if that means acting like a bitch, you act like a bitch.”
Fear God and Dread Naught Page 6
